Beauty Beneath
by Hot4Gerry
Summary: Summary: Miracles happen all the time but especially during the season of goodwill toward man. Can a man so scarred in both face and soul find love? Can he accept someone with more scars than his own? Will love conquer prejudice and perception? Erik/OC
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Since my Christmas stories are only twelve chapters each one will run some 4,000 or so words.**

**Summary: Miracles happen all the time but especially during the season of goodwill toward man. Can a man so scarred in both face and soul find love? Can he accept someone with more scars than his own? Will love conquer prejudice and perception?**

**Beauty Beneath**

**Chapter One**

**True Beauty**

**Isabella's POV**

Turning away from the mirror in disgust did I really imagine some miraculous intervention would have changed one horrid inch on this hellishly disfigured and deformed body of mine? Did I not long ago give up such childish fantasies? How can I hold any illusions about what I am when every mirror reflects cold hard reality back at me? Not since childhood have I dared let others see me. At the age of three my world became insular with only my stepmother and stepbrother speaking to me. Their company as brief as it always was I do think I would have been all the better being denied any human contact at all.

Dressed from head to toe in black as usual, I let go of my foolish hope that I might at last be able to wear one of those gowns I purchased on a whim last year. Nothing changed, nothing ever does. Born hideous I shall die hideous. Longing for someone's touch, someone's love, I shall forever be denied both. Except for…

Pulling on my matching black lace gloves I give one last regretful sigh then lower the black lace veil that will keep curious eyes from seeing that which I do not want anyone to gaze upon and that which they would regret seeing. Nightmares surely would haunt anyone looking upon such vile ugliness. If I cannot bear to glimpse my own image how can I expect anyone else to readily look at me?

Tonight I will attend the reopening of L'Opéra Populaire. How had I let myself be talked into investing in such a thing is beyond me. Usually I do not take an interest in anything that will require any personal attention from me. Even charitable donations are made through a second party. I suppose it is because I enjoyed those evenings sitting in my private box listening to stories of love being played out before an enraptured audience. For a time while music played and voices sang I could imagine a different life for me. One not cursed for sins unknown to me.

When the lights lowered I became another person. How I loved those stolen moments in time. Lost in whatever story unfolded I could forget my tragic reality. Whatever drama played out on stage carried me away to other places.

Little did we know of the real life drama being played out behind the scenes. How tragically romantic it all was and still is I imagine. Only a year has passed with not a word from any of the parties involved reaching the eager ears of Mademoiselle Daaé's public.

If my circumstances were different I could avail myself of our family connection to the de Chagny's. In my mind I have asked Mademoiselle Daaé so many questions burning to be spoken.

Knowing what it is like to be different and sequestered away from others my heart bled as that man poured out his love and proposal to his love only to be rejected and humiliated in a very public manner.

Would I perhaps turn as mad as he if not for having at least some semblance of normalcy? My life isn't perfect or any I would wish on another but I am not buried beneath tons of steel and mortar either. I have freedom even if I do not take advantage of it as often as I would like. I am not shunned but then wealth has its uses. Money blinds others to many blatant flaws in those with the healthy bank accounts.

I know of Mademoiselle Daaé's fate but often wonder about all those others involved in the mysterious affair between the Phantom of the Opera and his lovely soprano?

Anyone within hearing of his heartfelt declaration could not help but be moved. So moved was I that I almost did not care whether I made it to safety. For brief seconds I imagined the fire engulfing me, removing me from this world that does not accept anyone not of perfect face or figure, at least that is how it seems in my limited knowledge of the world at large.

Survival, the instinct to live without rhyme or reason I suppose moved my feet that night just before my box caught fire.

Foolishly I still have hope the Phantom lives within the opera house. Will he be among the patrons tonight watching? Will he choose another young woman to tutor? Will he fall in love? A disagreeable turn to my lips is evidence this scenario does not set well with me. Jealousy, envy, call it what you will. I would prefer all his admiration and attention to be in my direction. Foolish, foolish woman.

I suppose Felix will be there with his hand out. Why I let that stepbrother of mine intrude in my life is one more thing that shames me. Blackmail is such a vile ugly word, but one that is fitting to the relationship between Felix Montague and me.

He alone knows just what I hide beneath all the layers of clothing. Not for a moment does he let me forget how revolted he is by me. Cursing my father for marrying his mother will not bring me any relief. I can and do curse the fates that let them beget such a sin against all that is holy, namely, me, Isabella Fontaine.

How many nights have I selfishly asked why this curse could not befall my stepbrother. With his arrogance and doting mother might he have not fared better than I?

I have long since given up crying over things that cannot be changed. Instead, I live a reclusive life for the most part. Attending only those functions that are absolutely necessary relieves everyone of the necessity to pretend I am normal and not a freak of nature.

Of course not one of them has seen me without being covered from top to bottom. Speculation has run rife for years without anyone coming any closer to satisfying their innate curiosity. Let them have their little gossip sessions concerning my family dynamics and me in particular. Let them create torrid details of an encounter with me that is false but who is to dispute the declaration? Not I. Often I privately giggle as I compare my reclusive life to that of the Phantom.

Felix will remain oblivious to everyone's hints to reveal all or their attempts to bribe some juicy tidbit just as long as I keep his continuously emptying pockets filled with coin.

If ever there was a man less worthy of the title "Man" I have not met him in my short life of some five and twenty years.

A wastrel born and bred is our dear Felix. His mother, Caroline Montague, did him a disservice by spoiling him even into adulthood. When she died ten years ago she left him without any usable skills. Running through his own inheritance in a short six months he then set about pilfering mine.

Not being an unintelligent woman, I put a stop to him removing so much as one franc from my accounts. That money did not come from his mother. It has no ties to his family. My grandfather and grandmother fortuitously left my fortune in the hands of a trusted friend until my twenty-first birthday after which I took control. A trust set up by them for any grandchildren of my father's marriage assured future generations of Fontaine progeny a healthy bank account. Being my father's only child the entire fund passed to me.

I wonder if they foresaw what terrible burden would come into the world the night I was born. I am grateful to them and wish they had lived so I might have met them. Perhaps they could have loved me.

Sadly my own mother died the night of my birth. Father died only a year after marrying Caroline when I was only two. She is the woman I remember as mother and yet she rejected my attempts to get closer to her. Felix and I were not close as children nor are we close now. If not for my appearance our estranged state could be attributed to the twelve years between us.

It is from Caroline that I learned how revolted others were by my looks. Upon my third birthday all the staff were let go. New staff was hired from England. Caroline moved me from my lovely bedroom into a place she considered adequate for one such as me. My quarters were on the topmost floor away from the general living space. Not a day passed that she did not tell me what a retch I am.

Shameful it may be, but I silently rejoiced upon learning of her death while touring Italy. Felix moped around in an inconsolable drunken haze for a week or two then immediately sought out the solicitors. Imagine his surprise to learn the estate he believed would be his one day in truth belonged to his sister, poor misshapen creature that she is. Father could not leave the house to Caroline as it was to stay in the direct family line. I am the last of my line.

Counting on my inheritance to spend once his own withered away and then learning it belonged solely to me, I do think shocked him into speechlessness for once in his life.

It did not stop him from forging my name to many bank drafts. I put a stop to that. As I said, I am not an unintelligent woman. I keep track of what is mine.

Mine. Would that I could find a man to call my own might just kill me from the splendor of it all. Like…oh dare I think it? Why not, who is to know other than me?

How many times has it been now? Four, no, five, five times I have seen _him_. Talked to _him_, been held in _his_ strong arms as we danced. A strangely familiar man, all mystery and allure and yet I do not know his name. Our game forbids I ask.

So many nights I have been disappointed while searching the crowd for his tall, dark figure. Those times he has attended a party or ball has been on nights masks are required. I do not question this oddity as it is a reason for me to keep my own regrettable visage hidden from view.

Is it coincidence we both disappear just before midnight when our faces would be revealed? What need of subterfuge does a man handsome of face and perfect of proportion in body have? None, unlike me who must keep every scarred inch hidden least I sicken some unsuspecting soul.

That voice, oh what it does to me is shameful, almost forbidden. Desires left too long buried clamor to be set free. Almost, almost mind you, I have decided that if ever we find ourselves in some very dark very private place I might chance seducing him. I jest as I would not know the first thing about seduction or the wiles of women. I have not had an opportunity to use such talents.

He doesn't know me, I don't know him. How funny, neither of us has felt it necessary to require a name. Who first suggested we keep our identities anonymous? It could just as well have been me as him. I am not opposed to the idea.

In anonymity there is danger and yet on some level complete safety and a sense of freedom.

That first night even I could tell how nervous and unsure he was to approach me. Out of all those tantalizing half-naked women he chose me, all dressed in black and not showing even a hint of cleavage. How unfashionable I am.

Worry that something will happen to spoil my little fantasy gives me butterflies just before I enter the home of whoever is hosting the current society engorged gathering. Thus far my luck has held.

From the varied topics of our conversations it is obvious my lover is highly intelligent and well read. Lover, oh, how I like the sound of that. Those nights we have spent hour after hour in one another's company do not end when we part.

Once my head hits my pillow I give my subconscious permission and free reign to go where it will. It is a wonder my bed has not caught fire.

The word romance had been cut out of my vocabulary at an early age. Sonnets and poems had no place in my heart nor did books filled with them claim a place on any shelf in my library. Until now that is.

Only last month I braved going into the city so I might order a romance novel. How wondrous to find so many already stocked on the shelf. Women's equality it would seem, gave them courage to read and buy such adventurous writings. Once they were taboo but now were commonplace.

Normally the ride to Paris seems far too short. Before, I dreaded having to make appearances now and again. Now, it is hard for me to wait for the servants to pick up the mail from our box at the end of our drive as I might receive an invitation to attend some party or other where my man of mystery might also attend.

Tonight being such a public celebration it is to be hoped he might know I would attend. Unless he sees me enter the front door he will not know who I am. If he knew me as Isabella Fontaine would he not have let something slip by now? Unless it is his plan to play out some sadistic game I see no profit for his continued act of indifference to know more about his reticent companion. For my part I am extremely curious but have no discreet avenues to enquire as to who he might be.

We walk a very thin line trying to keep our privacy. I have not missed those whispered conversations concerning who it is claiming so much of poor Isabella's time. Speculation I am sure runs from him being a fortune hunter to a man unversed in knowing just what sort of person claims so much of his time. Unwise or not I cannot help but notice he dances with no other woman during our evenings together.

Unaccustomed jealousy raises its ugly head every time I wonder what he does in his time away from me and if it includes other women, women far more lovely than I.

As I arrive in front of the grand staircase leading up to the front doors my chest constricts nervously. Will he be watching for me? Will he wonder why I still wear clothing that conceals every feature from the naked eye or merely conclude I am an oddity, too odd to garner one more moment of his time? Which will be worse, to have him continue our…friendship only to end it when I deny revealing any part of me or have him ignore me completely now I am in a place where nearly all of nobility will attend this grand reopening thus giving rise to ridicule from his peers?

Several tall dark haired men draw my attention but none seem to carry themselves with such confidence as…Well I must give him a name. Did he not at our first encounter remind me of Don Juan from the opera last performed in this very place? He shall from now on be known to me as Don Juan until such time as I am blessed with a proper form of address.

Taking my seat inside my box I know I am setting myself up for heartache. Twenty-five years is too long to go without at least one twinge to my heart. I close off that voice inside that warns I am more likely to die from cupid's first arrow of love than survive with only one small injury. Will it not be better to chance one foray into loves arena than to live my entire life without even one attempt at normalcy? Can I not be sustained by the precious few months of our acquaintance? It will have to be for I am not disposed to save myself any amount of pain just for a few stolen moments in time with a lover even if he is a lover in my mind only.

Glancing around I see a couple of lights turned up to their brightest. Without thinking I automatically turned them down so they hardly cast any light at all. If he had seen me…

Foolish, foolish woman! Reprimanding myself mentally does not push back the surge of hope working its way up from the very deepest part of me. Never one to pin my hopes and dreams on others, now I find that is precisely what I am doing now. If it ends with me praying for another chandelier to come crashing down then so be it.

After fifteen minutes restlessness overtakes me. Nerves are not something I suffer openly but there is not one person to see me fidget or drum my fingers on the arm of my seat.

Lights dimming signals the program is about to begin. So what if he did not come within the first half hour since my arrival. The second act will give him ample opportunity to seek me out. He will come. I know it.

Confidently I straighten my spine and ever so subtly lift my nose just the smallest bit higher. Is there not a saying or quote which states that pride goeth before a fall? He will come. He must come. Please God let him come. Please, just this once I ask for something that is for my benefit alone. Please, I beg of you. I am so tired of being…alone.

Feeling the trickle of tears falling over my cheeks I sniffle as I try to find a handkerchief. Drat it all. I must have forgotten to put one in my bag.

Further sniffles are cut short as I feel a presence in the seat beside me. It is not Felix for I do not smell the stench of whatever whore he bedded before taking a seat or the overpowering smell of the many drinks he will have consumed before arriving at the theater.

A hand, a man's hand, appears in front of me dangling a white very expensive man's kerchief. So caught off guard am I that I nearly fall out of my chair when he speaks.

"Mademoiselle what has so distressed you? The performance is only just begun. Not one jilted lover or murdered rival has been sacrificed for the lady's affections."

Thank you God! Thank you. I shall be your humble servant for the rest of my life. Charity shall be my life's work. To have this man here with me I would promise almost anything.

"It is nothing Monsieur. I must have gotten a speck of dust in my eye. I do thank you for your offering but it will not be needed."

Why must I sound so haughty when I wish to appear welcoming?

"Would you like for me to look at your eye? Some damage may be done if debris scratches at your eye."

Mentally seeing a hand reaching toward my veil I nearly shout, "No!"

Clearly he believes I am simple minded or about to attack him for he leans away from me. Before I prayed he would come now I only want for him to leave me alone in my misery.

"Isabella, I did not mean to frighten you. I would never do anything you did not wish me to do. Everyone has something they wish to hide from the world. Our secrets, yours and mine just happen to be of a more private nature. Unfortunately mine has already been revealed for the entire world to see in such a way…in a way that insured to hurt the most."

Reluctantly I turn my head in his direction. I fear what I will see. That voice, his voice, did I not compare him to Don Juan? Did I not in fact secretly call him by that name?

Knowing what or rather who I will see does not prepare me for the perfection of his face, the side I can see anyway. Slowly he turns so I can take in the whole of him. The right side is white porcelain with only one lustrous green eye I remember so well peering back at me. Those lips, lips I have dreamed about pressing forcefully onto mine, are held tight together by either uncertainty or anger.

I miss the black domino. Silly of me but I do. Resisting reaching out to touch the mask is not easy but I do manage to curb my natural curiosity. Knowing what is underneath that cold white mask it is understandable for him to feel trepidation about having it removed. Did not one woman already betray him with that trick?

Fear curls in my belly. What if he is willing to remove his mask and asks me to do the same? His distancing himself from me a while ago relieves my mind on that score. Neither of us will be revealing anything anytime soon. For me it will be when Hell freezes over.

Another thought drives away worry over my own secret. Suspiciously I ask, "How…how did you who I am? How long have you known?"

"Who in Paris has not heard of Mademoiselle Fontaine?" he retorts using slight mockery to confuse me or beguile me, I am not sure which.

"You…you might have said something. Why continue with our silly juvenile game?" Mockery is not the emotion accompanying my words. Defensive, accusatory, suspicious, those describe my sentiments more aptly.

"I may be a lot of unsavory things but being a gentleman is my one and only virtue if indeed it is a virtue to primp and preen." He now directs self-deprecating mockery toward himself.

"Why would I spoil your fun when it afforded me so much pleasure of my own?"

Dim lighting keeps me from reading his true emotions. Does he toy with me? I am too nervous to blush.

Hoping I am not to meet my doom I ask a burning question trying not to let fear slur my words. "Am I to assume…am I correct to think my box is being invaded by none other than the infamous Phantom himself?" There, I have said it. I turn my head away having no wish to see a death blow headed in my direction if indeed one is to follow my ill advised inquiry.

Something close to a chuckle reaches my ears. Relief floods me as it becomes clear I am not in imminent danger of dying.

Startled I feel his finger at my chin turning me toward him. What is behind that searching look I must endure? My skin heats as if he has touched me with gentle caresses. Struggling not to give into the need to hasten my breathing, I manage to hold his gaze with my own.

"So brave Mademoiselle. I wonder if your bravery would last if we were alone, more alone than we are now?" His words are smooth as silk and as tempting as any siren song luring unsuspecting sailors to their doom. What fate awaits me should I find myself in the embrace of an opera ghost?

My fantasies, wants and wishes are leading me down a path that can only lead me to hurt and rejection but it is a path I am helpless to turn away from on my own.

"Monsieur, I am brave for I am almost certain you mean me no harm…" he cuts me off before I can finish my sentence.

"Almost? How charming."

"What I am trying to convey is that if you intended me any harm I would already have suffered my fate. Your reputation for…such matters has been well documented in every paper all over France."

Leaning in toward me his warm breath stirs the lace of my veil. Would not so many Parisians be mortified to learn the Phantom is not some fire breathing demon from Hell?

"Be careful Mademoiselle. My generosity goes only so far. Please refrain from any mention of my illustrious past," he whispers menacingly. A second later he is turned toward the stage watching the performance as if he did not just subtlety inform me I should not take his calm demeanor for granted.

For the rest of the first act we sit in silence. I dare not let my eyes travel in his direction lest he believes I am intruding on his enjoyment.

As the curtain drops and applause echoes around us abruptly he stands and says, "Mademoiselle, I wish to invite you to dinner. Naturally I do not patronize any of Paris' fine establishments but I do hire a man to obtain what I desire," abruptly spoken just as his indication he is about to leave is rather urgently relayed to me.

Shock stills my tongue. I need not have worried for he fills the void by instructing me, "Do not give an answer tonight. Tomorrow, return to the theater, come to box five and leave your written answer on the seat nearest the column."

A flurry of movement from him heralds some sort of smoke. When it is cleared my mystery man is gone. Did I dream him?

Glancing down I see a red rose left in the very seat he occupied only moments before. My sanity is intact.

A ghostly voice nearly frightens me to death as it commands, "Call me Erik. My name is Erik."

With bated breath I wait for something more only to be rewarded by disappointing silence.

Well, what am I to make of that? Scent from the newly cut rose wafts underneath my veil. Resistance to raising it to my nose is not even a consideration. Inhaling deeply my enchantment drops by degrees as I recall the Phantom sent Mademoiselle roses, ones tied with a black ribbon as tokens of his affection and approval. Mine, my first gift from a man, is bare of any such adornment.

Felix coming in then plopping down carelessly in the seat Erik, my Erik had just moments ago been sitting in, brings strange urges from me. It is an affront to have him there, in the seat that shall now and always be Erik's. Demands that he vacate the seat and indeed my box are left unsaid.

"I am in need of some funds dear Isabella," he says sulkily. He does so hate being beholden to my generosity.

"Of course you do. In anticipation of just such a request I brought along five hundred francs. You will find my bag on the table by the door. Please be so good as to take what you came for and leave me to my own company." Not since I was twelve have I felt any obligation to pretend any affection for him, perhaps even before that.

"Why you crafty goose. Who braved his manhood and the very appendage holding the offering?" he teases as he points to the rose still resting in my hand.

If I hide it now that will only draw attention to how much it means to me. Thinking quickly I carelessly lift it to wave it beneath his nose.

"What, this? It is a present to me from me. A young flower girl had one left. As it was getting dark I bought it so she could make her way home to safety."

"Always the soft heart. Be careful Isabella, someday your trusting nature will cast you into a cauldron of boiling regrets," he speaks lightly but to me it sounds almost like a prophecy.

Gaining what he wanted Felix is now happy to leave my boring company. Now I can give my full attention to my first and only invitation from a man. Two firsts in one night, how extraordinary. Shamelessly I wonder how many more firsts might Erik and I share. Faint heart never won fair lady. Wrong gender but still the sentiment is appropriate.

From the lofty heights of excitement to the lows of depression each emotion wars for prominence. If I go…if, mind you…if I do, there will be no requests to see me in all my frightful glory. It is dinner. There will be food, food I must eat with my veil lifted off my face. Not having invented a way to eat with my veil on that does not end with me looking as if I wallowed in my plate, removal is my only option.

Go yes, refuse yes, back and forth for the remainder of the performance. Gathering up my cloak a final decision is made. I will go and damn the consequences. The matter of my veil…well that bridge will be crossed when it is in front of me.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Don't know about you guys but I need some holiday cheer. It's no fun being alone during the holidays. Heck it's no fun anytime unless one of those blessed moments of peace and tranquility after all 7 grandkids go home. LOL. **

**Thank you so much to my reviewers. If only you knew how it brightens my day to receive then read your reviews I do think you would pat yourself on the back. Go ahead, do so right now. I would if I could. **

**Regrets, I Have a Few**

**Erik's POV**

Heart hammering in rhythm with every slap of my boots against the stones, I call myself all sorts of a fool. Why for the hundredth, no, thousandth time did I ever begin this folly?

Desperation for company brought me out that first night. It seemed like fate smiled on me when I learned it would be a masked ball. Before the…incident at L'Opéra Populaire, masked balls were only given in season. Now they are fashionable year round all due to my regrettable antics last year.

News that the destroyed inner structure would be gutted so something even more magnificent could be built eased some of the agony I suffer daily. Christine's loss nearly killed me. Losing my home left me bereft in a different way. Wounds from her loss may never heal but at least I have the consolation performances will continue far into the future, long after I am dead.

Fair play or honesty did not come into my pursuit of Mademoiselle Isabella Fontaine. Deliberate and careful planning went into every meeting. Through the years I must have seen her at the old opera house but do not recall observing her if I did. Since Christine held my every waking thought it is not inconceivable to miss one lone woman although a strange one.

Almost I feel sorry for Isabella, almost. A better man would have left our acquaintance at the one meeting. Being selfish in nature further meetings were planned and executed.

Having experienced being ostracized because I am different it was not a great leap to conclude she might also crave company. In her company I felt safety. Even without knowledge of who I am she did not ask questions or inquire about the mask. Her veil went without comment from me. To me it seems obvious just who we are. Surely she guessed in our later meetings who I am. Why else would I conveniently disappear when the clock neared midnight?

I knew immediately who the woman all in black was the moment she caught my eye. Everyone averts their eyes away from the woman dressed all in black, all but me. Not one inch of skin can be seen. Similarity in dress is another trait we have in common. The exception is I display the unmarked part of my face. Occasionally my hands are free of leather gloves.

Soft and melodic her voice moves me in ways no else's ever has, not even Christine's. Something, some element deep inside of me clamors to be set free in her presence. Fear of what it might be gives me the strength to fight against it. When the day comes control is no longer possible I am not certain if I will be able to let her go unscathed.

Unlike other men a face does not attract me or set fire to my passions. In the dark will not one woman feel much like another? Not in any hurry to remove my mask in the presence of another person any time soon it pleases me to find someone hiding even more than I.

Natural curiosity will be held in check, after all, it is not necessary to see ones partner to make love. Having all the male and female corresponding parts are enough for me.

Any concerns I may have that someone may learn of my intentions are minimum at best. Who is there to know? Madame Giry washed her hands of me after losing the only home she had for many years and the only home Meg has ever known. There are times when regret does give me pause when I think of never seeing her again.

I know where they live but have not made any attempt to seek them out. Raoul and Christine's whereabouts are also known. Even if I cannot set eyes on her again I must at least know where she is. Some small comfort is felt just knowing that at any time I could see her if I wished.

For a time I even believed once the opera house reopened my beloved might return. Perhaps in the back of my mind there is an idea I might press Isabella into offering Christine a place here again. Certainly that would be a strong motive for me to attend a private, by invitation only, ball. All of Paris knew of Isabella's connection to this opera house. In fact I knew before the public did funds changed hands from one set of managers to another.

I blame apathy at the time for not taking more interest in the transaction or those involved in the purchase. One must give Isabella her due as fifty-one percent of this establishment belongs to her.

In a world where men rule the lives of females under their roof it is odd that Felix Montague does not hold the purse strings. Lucky for his sister someone used caution over tradition when it came to the family finances.

If memory serves me Felix inherited a large fortune at the death of his mother. Gossip being a fount of information I learned he summarily spent every last franc. Now his debauching ways are supported by Isabella. Perhaps my curiosity will be satisfied about what his hold over her is.

Whoever set up this legal safeguard had Isabella's welfare in mind. Not even the estate can be touched by his less than thrifty hand. In a time when sons inherit and daughters must rely on the goodwill of their male counterparts, in this instance Felix is the one left begging. That is surely not an enviable position for anyone and even less so for the male of our species. We do tend to be prideful in such matters concerning who rules the household.

Being a man, one who suffered many moments that stripped me of my pride, I feel some small portion of sympathy for his situation but cannot feel any great distress as he had the world handed to him on a silver platter and with no regard for the future spent frivolously. Drink and women of loose morals took a good amount from his purse.

Isabella on the other hand is cautious to a fault. One might say she leans more to the miserly side of things. Perhaps that is too harsh. Being unable to live as normal women do I suppose ones needs are minimal. I, on the other hand tend toward the opulent and lavish in all things. Might it not be challenging to have her give freely that which Felix, her one and only living relative, must beg or extort from her?

I do not wish for her to think I am a pauper so somewhere just short of that is my goal. Wealth equal to hers is beyond me. I no longer have any interest in extorting money from anyone, even less so from Isabella. Investing wisely keeps my coffers filled.

Returning to the place I call home brings about deep reflection. Looking at the newly acquired furnishings with new eyes I find them far too grand for a man living a hermitlike existence.

Something less opulent is what I need to set the stage if I am to win her sympathy. I have heard women are softer of hearts than men. Personal experience taught me neither is of a particularly generous or forgiving nature. Isabella I think is far softer of heart than she lets on. We are alike in that also. Did I not for years keep emotions under lock and key, only letting them free to soar with the notes of my music? Foolishly I let Christine break through the wall surrounding my heart.

Little sleep did I find that night. At some point the decision had been made not to bother to check my box. If something is left it can be retrieved tonight when I attend the performance. Since little of it can be recalled I must visit my box for the performance. This is not an excuse. It is a valid reckoning.

What brought me to the topmost level is a mystery. Automatically I take my usual position inside the column that will take me to box five. Idly I observe how smoothly this new mechanization takes me upward. No more climbing ropes. I am getting older after all. Besides I do plenty of acrobatic maneuvers in the flies. Keeping out of sight is not an easy task.

No immediate move is made toward the seating area. Several circuits around the two seats is all I can stand. I must know. I believe I did not draw breath until the weight of the paper filled my hand. Only a short respite later I deny myself any inhalation until I have read the words I hoped to see but thought would be denied me.

She will come. Eight o'clock tonight. Turning the paper over I search for something more. The woman is as miserly with her words as she is with her funds. Honesty proclaims that last trait cannot be attributed to Isabella, not in the truest sense of the word. Careful is more apt when referring to financial matters where she is concerned.

Sleepless nights are something well known to me so I take this night in stride. Catching a few hours rest in the early dawn is enough to complete the many tasks of the day.

Foster, the young man I used to complete tasks Madame Giry could not take care of is the person contacted to carry out instructions once again. Relying on his discretion is not something that gives comfort but confidence in continued loyalty where he is concerned eases my mind. After all, if he had any idea to turn me in to the authorities he could have done so during the many years of our association.

As per our usual arrangement his back is to the gate on the Rue Scribbe side of the opera house. A rather large container sits beside him. This will contain food and beverage ordered especially with my guest in mind.

Gloved hand resting on the boys shoulder does not give him a start as one might think. There is an uncommon steadiness for one so young.

"Oh Monsieur, it is so good to know you did not perish. Those of us serving you did worry so. We hold no judgment against you. After all, do we all not have some regrettable sins we hide?"

"What sins can one so young have committed Foster?" My mood is gregarious compared to our usual interactions.

"At the moment I am stumped to think of one but feel certain my misspent youth is filled with them," he declares almost as if proud to be included in such irreverent company.

"Do not be so quick to include yourself among those who are less worthy of trust or less honest. If I did not know for a fact supporting your mother and several siblings is what motivates your every action, I would have relinquished your services long ago. There is no shame in being thought of as pure of heart, in fact it is to be admired," I offer my opinion knowing full well none of those admirable qualities can be lain at my door.

Turning away I pause to say over my shoulder, "Do not attribute honorable actions with me. For too long darkness ruled my every waking moment. Since…since the unfortunate occurance I am trying to change the man I was but it is too soon to know if one can change so late in life."

Even my best intentions toward Foster are partially a lie. Knowing what I plan to do to Isabella is not honorable or honest. It is selfish. I am a self-serving man.

My box seems claustrophobic after only a few minutes inside. Waiting below was impossible. Blaming my discomposure on nerves alleviates any suspicion any other emotion, such as guilt, plays any part in my agitation.

From my box I can see Isabella's box directly across from where I am now beginning to pace around like a trapped animal. Had my cage from long ago been large enough to stand and pace I would have worn a path through the bottom all the way to the ground. Such freedom of movement had been denied me then but never again.

I must say when the time came for the doors to open so patrons could begin filling in the empty seats I for once welcomed the intrusion of others in this place I think of as my own.

Calculating how long it will take me to get from one side to the other I refuse to leave one second earlier. To admit even to myself how eager I am to see this woman is not something I am ready to do. A man must have some pride.

She is seated waiting for me looking much the same as on our prior encounter. Should I have made a demand, no, recommendation, that she wear something more…colorful? Who am I to presume to advise another on what they should wear, especially a woman?

Gently clamping my hand over her mouth I am pleased when she does not appear to be startled by my unannounced appearance. Even expecting me it must still be disconcerting to have me come up behind her then clamp my hand over her mouth. Not something a true gentleman would do but then some may say I am only a gentleman in my own mind.

"Isabella, it is only me, Erik. Do not be afraid. Is it safe to remove my hand? You are agreeable to my presence?"

One quick nod is all I get to assure me of her compliance. Did I expect anything else? If she changed her mind the box would now be empty or filled with gendarmes ready to capture me. For both our sakes I am glad the latter did not occur.

Coming to stand in front of her I offer her my hand which she accepts more readily than I expected. Not a hint of hesitation.

"Where are we going?" Still no hint of nerves, although, there is an odd breathlessness my well trained ears can detect.

"To my home of course. Did I not make that clear when extending the invitation?"

"Oh, yes, of course. I must have forgotten. Forgive me. I do understand."

There are several ways I could take her below. The one I am choosing will afford me an opportunity to share a closeness the others do not. The column has limited space. Naturally being a gentleman it is required I wrap my arm around her waist to steady her on our downward journey.

It is a short but oh so sweet journey, the first of many if I have my way. I usually do.

My olfactory senses are overworked taking in all of her different aromas. Without my gloves on the pleasure of touch, skin to skin, is a reward in and of itself, or would be if only my lady would bless me with an unfettered appendage.

In the darkness I am given one more reward as her delicate hand covers mine. Disappointment when that unasked for offering is taken away it is brought to new heights of sensation when an ungloved hand covers my own.

As her hand left mine years of rejection could only fathom one more person repulsed by such ugliness as what my body bears. How blessed when both hands find their way back to mine. Of course removal of her gloves required the use of both hands. Marvelous, bright, exemplary woman, that is my Isabella.

Does she notice when I reverse the direction of our transport? If there is any objection none is verbalized. Do I fool myself by believing what I want to be true whether it has foundation in reality or not?

I will not chance ruining what seems to be a mutual desire to further our friendship by letting temptation to linger rule over my better judgment.

When we come to the boat it is disappointing to find black lace gloves returned to their proper place. The more I am denied a glimpse of her the more intense is my desire to see what I am denied. Is this how Christine and the others felt when viewing me? It is to be hoped I have better control than my young protégé, Mademoiselle Daaé.

Do I imagine it or is Isabella's gaze fixed on me? Of course she could very well be looking over my shoulder at the many interesting statues and other carvings covering the walls along the waterway. In case I am only seeing what I want I will refrain from this urge to preen and flex my muscles in the way I have seen other men do when trying to impress a certain lady they wish to make their conquest.

If it would not be too obvious or remind me too much of another journey I took with a woman in this very boat I would sing something romantic, something sure to influence a susceptible female heart. Underneath her touch me not countenance the world sees I hold out hope Isabella has all the instincts and cravings women of her age are wont to harbor even when there is no hope of winning a suitor. How many old crones attend the opera every evening in the hope of capturing the eye of some man? Countless young men are under some older woman's protection.

Again my imagination plays tricks on me as Isabella appears to begin to stand then abruptly sits back down to await my helping hand. Do we cling a little tighter than necessary? Do our hands grip longer? On my side reluctance to release even that small part of her is undeniable. Is it the same for her?

Isabella trips causing my arms to encircle her trim waist just as her arms capture my neck. The only reason I know she looks at me just as intently as I look at her is the tilt of her head. A yard of black lace gives me no hint if she even looks at my face.

Trembling begins to shake my body but I will not let fear steal one second of this gift from me. It is not long before I know the shaking is not from fear but from lustful thoughts.

How easy it would be to swoop down to claim her lips. I need not look, only taste. Endangering my plan by taking from her too soon is not something that will win me all that I want. Better to stoke the fires then reap the benefit at a later date. Denial of pleasures satisfaction will increase them exponentially once we do unit as one. I will have her. This time the prize will be mine.

I will wine, dine, romance and seduce her then release her if that is what she desires. Contrary to my original plan to ask for something of a permanent nature I feel the best I can hope for is a quick lustful liason that will no doubt fizzle after further acquaintance. Is that not how these things are carried out? No one expects any confessions of love or proposals of marriage. Simple sexual gratification or financial gain are the usual bargaining chips.

Isabella does not need my meager offering. Compared to her I am a pauper but then most men in Paris are. I suppose I should be flattered by any notice afforded me by someone so out of my class. I am a nobody. I do not even have a surname to offer a woman should I find one willing to marry me. All of these facts further cement my decision that at some point Isabella and I will part company. It is to be hoped the parting will be amiable. I do think I might enjoy this woman even if nothing comes of our relationship. Time will tell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Beauty or Beast**

Petrified is how I felt when a hand covered my mouth without warning. Out of the darkness he came silent as any assassin. Knowing what I know about him it is not beyond the realm of reality that he might have sold his services at one point.

Chilled or thrilled, I cannot decide. Hinting at some undeclared danger adds to his air of mystery. Heat from his body invades me in a manner that should illicit righteous objections from me but does not. Masculine flesh is aligned with mine in such a way nothing can pass between us.

Unexplainable flutters in my stomach begin just as his hand covers that area of my body no one touched other than me. In truth who but me could stand to touch such twisted ugly flesh?

Whatever happens I will have moments such as this to carry into my twilight years. Why should I not have some small portion of what other women have? It is a fact no suitor will come clamoring for my hand. There will be no clandestine meetings with a lover. Untouched, unloved and as chaste as the day I was born is how I expect to live my life until the day I die.

Erik, only he dares to offer me a glimpse of what women feel when their lover is near. Whatever he is willing to give I will grasp gratefully with both hands. As long as it is understood his eyes shall not look upon my flesh in the light we will proceed until his disgust of me draws a halt to our association.

Gliding along in his boat I pray my gawking is not noticeable. I should feel shame but only feel something, something I thought never to feel, lust.

I am a normal woman in the sense of the demands of my body's yearnings. Erik is a normal man for the same reasons. Why should shame have any part in our association? It should not and it will not.

Something has set me free, free from worry how a lady must comport herself. This night is not one ruled by standards set by man. Only deepest desires shall be our guide.

Before courage is tamped down by doubt, I purposefully misstep allowing my body to fall heavily against Erik's. How can a woman of my age have lived so long without knowing the strength of a man's arms wrapped securely around her waist? Safe, secure, protected, all of those words describe perfectly what I feel while other less innocent words such as lust, desire and animal pleasures brazenly fill my mind.

Having heard about the marvelous wonders Erik created below it is puzzling how stark his abode appears now. Though still charmingly furnished there are none of the sculptures, mysterious inventions strewn about, no thousand candles giving the illusion of stars having fallen from heaven, nothing otherworldly caught my eye. I could be in any home above ground. Disappointment and yes, a bit of jealousy pricks at me because Christine, Erik's beloved, saw the wonder of what his mind conceived in its rawest design. Now he lived in tasteful mediocrity. I will not let this spoil my enjoyment.

"Isabella, would you care for some wine before we dine?" Erik's voice startled me coming from so close to my ear. That reminded me just how close we still were.

"Oh, oh yes, please." Was that thin voice coming from me? Fright is not the cause of my uncertainty how to proceed. Uncharted waters threaten to overwhelm me in a maelstorm of emotion.

"Monsieur Pierre, the man from the shop assures me it is among the finest vintages available." Like most men Erik is bragging even if he is unaware of it.

Watching as he strides purposefully across the…room?... regret washes over me as cold removes any warmth he left behind on the skin previously warmed from the heat of him pressing against me. Perhaps I should have opted just to sit and converse. Finding my new courage might I not have brazenly taken the seat beside him on the settee?

Forlorn glances toward Erik's striking figure standing in front of the fireplace let slip some of my adamant inner words of encouragement. Now that the moment is at hand continued self-assurance slowly seeps away into nothingness.

Curiously after two, or is it three, glasses of wine the lioness roars once again. Another glass or two will put me under the table I am sure. Wine does not mix well with an empty stomach. I think Erik is feeling the affect as well. I do believe he stumbles slightly crossing to his table.

Now we are seated after Erik brought plates filled from several chafing dishes. Alright, the bridge is now in front of me. How do I proceed?

Both plates grow cold without one bite leaving a dish. I will not slurp or tear at food like some animal, yet, to lift my veil is unthinkable. Erik is similarly distressed although I do think he could manage better than I.

Pushing food around with unused forks gives the illusion we are eating. In truth our conversation is punctuated by many salutes of uplifted wine glasses.

The first bottle is gone and a second seemingly appears by magic. Not once is there an uncomfortable lull in conversation. Erik's interests are varied. We are well matched in many subjects but he has more knowledge of several subjects. Letting him enlighten me allows me to search out his every feature without it seeming as if I stare too long in an unmannerly fashion.

Who in their right mind would not want to listen to his voice speak on topics meant for scholars to discuss or even something as simple as the ingredients of a recipe? Reciting any gibberish would sound more intriguing if the words are spoken through Erik's lips.

How long we sat in idle conversation I cannot remember. For certain I am unclear how we came to be lying in a bed, his bed, fully clothed. The night gave way to dawn long ago. It is now afternoon. At least it is if the clock striking the hour of one is correct. Unless we slept a whole day away it is the afternoon of the next day. God, what I would not give for a heavy boot to throw at that head-splitting racket maker.

Head pounding and stomach churning disagreeably, I slowly wake. My groans must have awoken Erik for he too begins to stir.

Alacrity at the moment is beyond us. Rather we feel more apt to crawl than walk. Even this state does not remove the necessity to check to see if I am covered as I must be. All is in place. Erik's mask is askew but still on his face. Knowing how my own imperfections shame me I will not take this unsolicited opportunity to see what he hides.

If an army with crusty feet marched across my tongue my mouth could not feel or taste any worse than at this very second. Swallowing eases back down what insists wants to come up.

Rubbing the scratch in eyes that are surely bloodshot moves my head in a disturbing manner. Does Erik have his bed on a revolving pedestal? Once the spinning stops sitting on the side of the bed is much easier.

Feet somehow bared during my lurid night of shared debauchery, search for and find my slippers. Praise God for small mercies that they slip on. Bending over to tug on lace up boots just might be beyond me right now. For sure if I bend over my head will fall off my shoulders. The constant hammering going on inside leads me to believe that might not be such a bad idea.

Having made my way out to the area where we began our night several glaring problems come to mind.

What do I do now? He brought me in a boat for heaven's sake. Hailing a cab is out of the question. Likewise, making my way on my own two feet is not an option. Besides, do I truly want to avoid Erik just because we both felt too awkward to do the intelligent thing and make eating a simpler task?

Wanting to do something and having the courage of your convictions is quite something else.

Knowing I am in no shape to move further than the settee I sit down sighing in relief as the world stops spinning and my stomach agrees it will behave for the time being.

Bodily needs bring me to my feet once again to search out some sort of water closet. Through a door unnoticed the night before I find luxurious fixtures fit for any grand home. Relief abounds to find that Erik installed such a luxury as a flushing toilet.

Having taken care of natures call I am now curious about all the bottles on the sink top and the bathtub. I know for certain no one in Paris carries any of the scented bath oils or soaps filling my nose with wonderful aromas. Such manly scents and yet with hints of some subtle gentler fragrance seem decadent while at the same time innocent. One in particular earns my approval for it reminds me of how Erik smells. Not wanting to be caught snooping I return to sit and await Erik's company. This gives me plenty of time to think and plan.

If Erik and I are to proceed to the next level in our relationship there are several issues that must have an acceptable resolution to for the both of us.

Only in my imagination have I been kissed or caressed. Honestly it is hard to remember the last time another person touched me. I must have been a toddler for I am certain no one dared touching me since all the old servants were sent away.

Perhaps if we take small steps things will seem less insurmountable. Both of us will agree to total darkness when baring those parts we keep hidden. For me touch will be enough, although, I can honestly say my pulse races imagining what Erik's body looks like sans clothing. Oh, I am so wicked. I embrace this new wickedness eagerly.

Men are predisposed to seeking out sexual partners based more on looks than substance. Even Erik chose one of the most beautiful women in Paris to pursue. Using his need for gratification it may be easier to persuade him that a liaison based on mutual needs would be beneficial to both of us. Certain rules naturally must be agreed to before the next step commences.

Hearing footsteps coming from behind the curtain where Erik's bedroom is located, I smooth down my rumpled clothing. If my dress is such an unsightly mess what must my hair look like?

Using my fingers I search out the few pins left in the curls piled on top of my head. Once released from their restraints black ringlets fall down my back. At least God gave me one beautiful thing, my hair. It is splendid even if I do say so myself. In a moment of unusual kindness Felix told me a man could bury his hands in my black cloud of hair and find pleasure in simply touching it. He must have been feeling particularly generous that day as he equated the fragrance in every strand to be heavenly. My one and only compliment came from my own brother. How pitiful is that?

Sadly I grasp my veil hating having to return it to its proper place. Does Erik hate his mask with an equal passion that I hate my veils, gloves and dark clothing? I can do nothing about my loose hair in the time I before Erik enters the room. In my anger I almost jam a pin in my scalp. Drawing several calming breaths I soon find my composure. My head and stomach are still at war with the rest of me but at least I am almost returned to normal.

An already dry mouth becomes more like a desert by the second as I anticipate seeing Erik knowing just what brazen proposal hatched moments ago inside a head spinning from too much libation the night before and desires being awoken by a very sensual man. Fear of rejection will not be allowed to derail this train, full steam ahead.

Staggering sideways Erik quickly saves himself from falling by leaning a hand against the stone wall. We are quite a pair. If I did not know for a fact nothing happened in that bed other than sleep I would be worried that I had been compromised and missed the whole thing. When, if it happens, I want to be wide awake so every lustful second can be savored.

Gingerly righting himself slowly his steps bring him to the settee. Last night every movement spoke of elegance and grace. This morning an ungraceful plop and grunt is the best he can manage in his present state. Leaning forward, ever so slowly, elbows come to rest on knees and hands prop up a head that must be throbbing and spinning comparable to mine.

Speaking in a low monotonous voice Erik says, "I…I am sorry. Drink is never an intelligent choice without being accompanied by food. Did I…did we…Oh hell."

Inching slowly across the short space between us I come to rest beside Erik. Any sudden movement will have the both of us rushing for a basin.

"Erik I may be somewhat the worse for wear but that is only because as you surmised we overindulged in wine on empty stomachs," I try to make myself sound as confident as I can. What I am about to say next will either shock him so severely he is at a loss for words or he is so disgusted an appropriate response is beyond him.

Gathering courage quickly dwindling I boldly state my case. "Erik, you and I are unique individuals. Being who we are we have lead somewhat insular lives. Friendships or…or romantic encounters are not something we are able to pursue."

He stiffens in protest. Of course he had his Christine but can one even count that as romantic or something even approaching shared emotions?

"I…I know you loved…" Here I have to pause as to say her name in connection with Erik loving her and to hear it declared out loud begins something within my chest that feels like pain, actual pain.

"You loved her," is the compromise I allow myself to speak out loud.

"For all your devotion to her what is now left? You are alone, just as I am alone. I know your pain for it is the same as what I have suffered all my life. My circumstances were financially better as was my family position. Not much better but enough to make a difference."

He has not removed himself from my side to begin shouting angrily or throttle me as I suspected he might. This is all the encouragement I need to continue with my proposal. We have nothing to lose and so much to gain.

Nervousness I am trying to overcome seeps into my next sentence as I continue, "What I propose…what I suggest is…now mind you, there is plenty of time to consider every aspect of our mutually beneficial liaison. If you agree we can…that is only if you think I am not too hideous…"

"Damn it woman spit it out!" he nearly shouts at me. A groan of regret passes his lips. Serves him right for allowing his booming voice to fill the acoustically perfect area. Allowing the hammering to subside just a little I sift through my planned speech for my next words. Perhaps he will blame my inebriated condition on this rash suggestion.

"Will you be my lover?" I nearly shout before I can reconsider my response. Instead of the embarrassment I thought would follow my brazen plea I have to say the emotion most discernable is eagerness. I await the fallout from his temper.

Silence, complete and utter silence, I have stolen his ability to speak. I do believe Erik has even stopped breathing. Is he that repulsed? How can I take it back without looking like some pitiful old maid begging for a scrap of attention?

"What did you say? Woman, if you toy with me, be prepared to unleash a force to be reckoned with," comes the booming reply to my question. Why must we both speak in such loud tones? Softer spoken words carry the same meaning do they not?

Gathering my courage around me boldly I place my hand on his thigh. Clenching muscle tightens cloth covering the very male appendage I have so wantonly touched.

"Erik, listen to me. There will be rules, mine and yours. We must agree how to proceed before proceeding any further. Unless you foresee meeting some young woman in the foreseeable future why not grasp what little happiness we can?"

Lunging to his feet Erik begins to pace about agitatedly. If I offended him or he belittles me, I think I shall die. The advantage is mine. Erik can see none of me whereas I see most of him. Even if some horrible disfigurement covers the right side of his face Erik is a striking man on the left.

From what I could tell from touching him just now he is very fit. All those dances we shared gave me a hint of masculine perfection beneath his clothing. My imagination may have elaborated to a degree but from what I can tell Erik is a fine specimen of manhood.

Scarcely daring to breath in fear of drawing his attention stiffly I sit praying he will end this torture soon.

Black boots draped with the fine cloth of Erik's trousers come to rest in my field of vision as I stare fixated at the rug under our feet. Idly I wonder how such a fine piece came to reside in this cold underground.

"This…this mutual liaison…what exactly would it entail?" he speaks with hesitation as well as curiosity.

"Well…I…I suppose after a period of familiarity we…we…there would be intimacy," I say nearly strangling myself getting the words out.

"Intimacy? Explain. I want no misunderstanding," now he speaks with challenge.

Of course he needs every I dotted and every Tee crossed. The fiasco with Christine left very deep scars and wounds that may never heal.

To get what I want I must shed all reservations. It is not as if Erik were some society rake with experience in matters of the heart or sensual satisfaction. My lips have not touched another's earning me the title of an old maid holding onto chastity no one wishes to claim. From what the papers reported Erik and Christine shared something more than a mere maestro and pupil relationship. Madame Giry remained tight-lipped about the whole affair.

"Do not think I am of loose morals or subscribe to one of those secret societies indulging in every pleasure without the restraint of civil propriety," I warn in case he believes we will be engaging in debauchery of the vilest kind.

"As you know I am a woman of a certain age when a woman is thought to be long passed being of a marriageable age. Living with my particular shortcoming does not entice suitors to call at my door. It is a lonely life I lead and I crave what other women have, what they take for granted. No man will come calling asking to take me out on Sundays or any other day. I want the company of a gentleman caller. I thought…I think we could be mutually beneficial in that respect," there the words are put before him to accept or reject.

A long moment of silence passes before I hear him begin to speak. At first his voice is of a low even timbre but builds with every word.

"Because I am not a man of perfect visage you think me acceptable," his voice rises as he gains momentum.

"Throw the pitiful beast a bone and watch him crawl on his belly in gratitude. Mademoiselle you underestimate the value I place on myself while overvaluing your own…desirability," he snarls out slowly advancing on me. Refusing to give in to any weakness I hold my ground. Fear and uncertainty would lose me the war before even a shot could be fired. Damn it I want this. I will have this. Have him.

Instead of backing away I move toward him until there is not even so much as a hairsbreadth between us. Placing my hand on his chest I speak sincerely, "Erik, you misunderstand me. I do not make this offer to ridicule you or debase you. It is as I first stated, an agreement between two people seeking to enjoy time spent together that hopefully will lead to something of a more intimate nature."

His searching gaze draws me further into him so that we are now flush against one another. His lips fall open softly begging for me to lift up so we may join in our first kiss. Did he mesmerize Christine in the same way he is me at this very moment?

Closing my eyes I break the spell. First things first. I must make amends. Feeding his pride just enough to convince him of my sincerity but not enough to have him disbelieving anything I say will be a fine line to walk but one I must tread until he can accept someone finds him desirable.

Perhaps it is I who am the fool and he toys with me. Prey upon the pitiful creature's desperate need for companionship, then once she is vulnerable, tear her to shreds. Revenge on womankind through me or more aptly revenge on Christine.

Gingerly I place my gloved hand on his left cheek. As expected he shies away from even that innocuous gesture. He moves, I move, until there is no other place he can go unless he takes a step sideways. That would be admitting fear. Those green eyes show a ferocious declaration his retreat is at an end.

Now to show there is no harmful intent coming along with the hand resting on his cheek.

"Erik, please. I am so lonely, so desperate, that yes, I am willing to trust someone most consider a murderous madman. Whatever you ask of me I shall do. My fate is in your hands."

If only I could brave letting him see the sincerity in my face. The best to be hoped for is that it is there in my voice.

When he abruptly turns away I bow my head in defeat believing all is lost. Unbelievably I hear his gruff words saying, "Tomorrow. Dinner. Wear a shorter veil. I plan to wear a domino. It is idiocy to starve just so we may keep company."

If I did not know the gravity and delicacy of our situation I could believe Erik spoke with humor.

"Come, I will take you back to your box. They will be missing you."

Who would miss me other than Felix if I am not there to fill his coin purse? In my life there is no they or even a someone. Now with Erik in agreement I do have someone who might miss me if I were to disappear suddenly. It is a comforting thought.

The return journey is a quiet one. What is there to say after all? Certainly there are many things I would like to say but they are better left until we are better acquainted.

The door of the column glides open with barely a whisper of sound. Stepping out I hesitate then turn around. Before my fears take over I step up to Erik then tiptoe up as I lift my veil a miniscule inch. Boldly I kiss him on the lips.

What at first started out to be a quick salutation very quickly turned into something else. Erik does not touch me with his hands but dear God what he does with his lips leaves me weak and on the verge of fainting. Is this quivering in my belly normal or is my system thrown into shock?

Not wanting to disgrace myself or ruin this perfect moment I step back. Allowing only a brief perusal I turn to walk swiftly out of the box. Already I am wondering if I dare wear one of those revealing dresses. Perhaps if I drape one of my larger veils over me everything will be covered. Remembering Erik's suggestion that we both wear something that will allow us to eat in comfort my mind begins to shift and rearrange the veil. It will work. I will make it work. Having come this far nothing short of Erik locking me out of that column will derail my plan.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**Courtship**

**Erik**

Standing in the darkness I am frozen in place, not by fear but by shock, shock that a woman not only touched me freely but placed her soft lips against mine.

Instant passion burst into flame the moment our lips met. My mind is so fluid from immediate sexual arousal then just as quickly it is as if cold water dropped down from the ceiling leaving me confused and frustrated. The temptress fueled a fire she had no intention of keeping burning.

Christine's two kisses upon lips tainted by an affliction bestowed on me in my mother's womb are becoming hazy memories as my mind grapples with what happened just a few moments ago. Isabella left with a flourish of black satin and lace. Her alluring perfume drifts around me in a subtle cloud of seduction. I curse my inability to keep a clear head so I might have glimpsed even a small part of her. Nothing in the softmess of her luscious lips speaks of deformity. On the contrary they are very…lucious and taste of eager suplication. What we both lack in experience we surely made up for in eagerness.

Coming to grips with my emotional turmoil there is nothing to do but ready myself and my home so that it and I will please my future paramour, at least it is to be hoped I have not been dreaming only to wake in my bed alone with only tangled bed linens for company.

Contrarily time slips by far more quickly than I would expect. Where once nerves of steel kept me strong now they are aflutter sending me this way and that straightening pillows, lighting candles and cleaning away cobwebs long overdue for removal.

Glancing around at the sparse furnishings regret seeps in for having removed some of my finer artistic touches. Too late I realize it is not a relationship born out of mutual desperation. There is much more I seek from our liaison, yes, I want much, much more from her.

Yearnings I thought dead and buried the night Christine left are now demanding to be heard. Sexual gratification is all well and good but cannot sustain body and soul through long lonely years of a person's life. Humans need companionship, a closeness strengthened over time. Time I fear is not something allotted to me in quantity in so far as any real happiness in my life is concerned. Always it is destroyed by outsiders or more often than not by my own crazed theatrics. A certain chandelier dropping down to deliver death and destruction comes to mind.

The hour is at hand. An unnatural trembling quakes through me. I am nervous as a callow youth whether or not I am willing to admit it.

The column panel slides open to reveal a vision in blue, a dark sapphire color that sparkles with shimmering light as she moves. Did the lights remain on for just this purpose? The voices of the audience below fade into nothingness. We could be alone for all the notice I took of my surroundings.

Good God above, just beneath the short blue veil there is a patch of skin more tantalizing than the nudes I keep for my own pleasure. Berry red lips temptingly reminiscent of the dewy sweet fruit, a particular favorite of mine, invite a man to sample their sweetness.

I may be wrong but it is my understanding Isabella bore her affliction over the whole of her body. Not a single blemish mars her pert chin or perfectly formed lips. Neck sleek and long bring an ache within me to touch, to kiss, to know more. Perhaps like me, Isabella has some perfection amidst all her many flaws.

Feet move of their own accord, bringing us within touching distance. Should I chance stealing a kiss, a mere touching of lip to lip? Trepidation rules, counseling caution. Before my uncertainty can sway me from doing so, I reach out and take her hand. Lips yearning for wet passion of her mouth must find appeasement in the lace covering her hand. Not nearly as smooth or soft as the lush skin of Isabella's mouth if memory serves me and most assuredly it does.

The moment my lips touch her, my ears pick up the quick intake of air as if deprived of this source of life for too long. Lifting my head I stare fixedly where I know her eyes are returning my gaze just as intently. If only I could shoot fire from my eyes as many in the opera house declared that lace veil would be ash at our feet.

"Mademoiselle may I say how lovely you look this evening. I daresay you will outshine anything in my humble home," the flamboyant compliment rolls easily off my tongue. Perhaps I heard the line in a performance or read it in a book. Being a seducer of women is not something that comes easily for me.

Christine…Christine was a child, is still a child. Most likely she will remain childlike for the rest of her days. Quilt for my duplicity in keeping her from outgrowing childish dreams is something I shall bear heavily upon my blackened soul.

At the time the years between us did not seem to matter. For all my great age of thirty-five it is a fair assumption skills males normally learn at their father's knee is not something I could experience having no father in my life, or mother for that matter.

"Erik there is nothing humble about your home or you for that matter. I find you extremely interesting. Your home is a reflection of your eclectic tastes. I for one admire a person willing to forgo what is considered fashionable so they may express their own preferences," Isabella declares firmly.

Praise is not something heaped upon my head either. Much more of this and neither my head nor my chest will fit through any of the panels hidden within the opera house walls.

Within the column Isabella leans back against me. Things are stirring which I cannot control. It is to be hoped Isabella is aware of involuntary responses in men when aroused sexually. Having her feminine body pressed so tightly aligned with mine is as disturbing as it is pleasurable. Cautiously I splay my fingers just beneath those tempting mounds of flesh. So close and yet so far my imagination runs amok.

Feeling her hand cover mine I begin to wonder once again if I am dreaming. So many times my longing for womanly caresses has lead me to envision a life where my companion welcomed me with loving arms. Every time I awoke to cold reality.

My boat awaits us decked out in pillows and decorative lanterns. There is even a box of chocolates resting upon one of the pillows. I am not above bribery to get what I want. Our last conversation would have me believe any advance I dare make will be met with positive responses. I have learned over the years that women become all dewy eyed by the smallest sentimental gestures.

Our journey affords me time to observe her without it seeming as if I stare rudely at her. That small patch of tantalizing flesh teases and taunts. Is being so aroused by something so innocuous normal? When did removing gloves take on such erotic implications? My fingers twitch just imagining removing them from her small hands.

Catching her glancing below my waist, at least I believe her gaze is lowered there, where my arousal is clearly discernable. Isabella quickly turns her head away. Without seeing beneath the veil I cannot say for certain there is a blush staining her cheeks but I would wager all I own that a rosy glow covers that soft skin if indeed it is not flawed as mine is.

Isabella has said there is good reason to hide beneath a veil but it is hard for me to conceive any imperfections given the evidence of her perfect lips and tempting neck. God saw fit to bless me with just such beauty and imperfections but surely he would not curse someone as spiritually beautiful with so much outward ugliness. I dare not think what evil would be unleashed if I were cursed to the extent that Isabella suffers. My affliction is only a miniscule nuisance compared to her burden.

Eager to be near her again my landing of the boat and subsequent jump onto the rocky outcrop are less examples of finesse and more proof grace and sexual tension do not make for elegant movement.

Taking her two hands in my own I peruse that small patch of skin as some might eagerly gaze upon a painting hanging in the Louvre. Lest I give into my libidinous longings by kissing her senseless, I turn away so her tempting form is behind me and therefore out of my field of vision.

"Erik I…I am sorry if I…I did warn you my affliction was disgusting. What I cannot bear to see is no less unbearable for others. I…I thought with only candlelight and shadows from the tunnels you might be able…You did suggest we dress so we might partake of food. If it…if I disturb you to this extent I can lower the veil so all of me is once again hidden," her words are accompanied by a sniffle and a deep sigh.

Whirling around angrily I am about to lay into her for toying with me. Utter dejection curves her back casting her gaze to her feet. Glimpsing a quivering lip I am astounded to discover Isabella has no real idea about the perfection of her flesh, the part openly on display anyway.

What nonsense is this? How did such an otherwise intelligent woman come to think such vile things about herself?

This mystery is one I will unravel. No person should feel ostracized because of things they cannot control. What someone has done to Isabella is unconscionable. Of course I have not seen the rest of her so cannot make firm conclusions except on the facts I know to be true. Her lips are unforgettable. Chin and sleek neck beg for attention. My lips eagerly volunteer their service.

Deeply I kiss the quiver from her trembling mouth. Hands eagerly caress skin soft as the finest silk. At first hesitation meets my advance but it is short-lived. Her response is all I could ask of her.

Out of breath we pull apart but only slightly. Neither of us is ready to move away from the fiery heat just waiting to be fanned into a blaze. I feel as if I have been set afire from the inside out. It is to be hoped my kiss moved her in equal measure.

So softly I could not be certain she spoke or if I imagined I heard her say, "Oh, oh my."

Just as softly I whisper, "Oh my indeed my lovely Isabella." Grabbing hold of either arm she clutches the fabric of my jacket using that hold to pull me forward so she might kiss me again. Possession, I felt utterly possessed by her and with only a kiss. Might I not lose my soul with further pleasures shared, assuming I had a soul and there were many who would debate the point heatedly.

Throughout our simple meal of seasoned baked chicken, steamed asparagus and boiled potatoes, for every bite I took I watched her take three. I found her every movement fascinating.

Diabolical planning on my part concocted a dessert sure to please not only the palate but the senses as well. Melted chocolate with fresh picked strawberries to dip into the sweet seemed like the right choice given where my imagination drifted off during the meal preparation. I thought it too grass to use our fingers so against my own inclination fondue skewers will be provided. Wanting her attention to be solely on me I even unearthed my long ago buried culinary skills learned while watching the staff in the opera house kitchens.

Her glance mingled with mine enough times that my ego felt bolstered enough that I might chance advancing from a mere kiss to something more, nothing vulgar but something…more.

Clearing away the aftermath from our meal is done quickly. Politely Isabella offers to help but magnanimously I decline her offer. What sort of a gentleman would I be if I allow one drop of dirty dishwater to touch her hands. Temptation to accept on the off chance I might glimpse her hands is not easily squashed but reminding myself of what more I might gain is enough to waylay any curiosity for the moment.

Besides, doing menial chores such as the cleaning of used dishes, pots and pans is not something I do myself. Everything is placed in a wooden box, set outside the Rue Scribbe entrance then magically picked up, cleaned then returned in pristine condition, much the same as my clothing.

Crackling flames invite us to take up residence on the bearskin rug placed just close enough for us to feel the warmth from the flames without chancing getting burned by any errant sparks.

This scenario took me many hours of planning so that every little detail fell into place. Chilling champagne, warm melted chocolate and fresh red berries already sat on a serving tray nearby. Dozens of colored pillows surrounded us should we have need to lie down. Before taking my place beside my intriguing guest I make my way from lamp to lamp extinguishing the flames so that the only remaining light comes from two candles, one on either side of the rug. Close enough to cast a dim light but not enough to see anything with clarity.

Coming to rest beside Isabella I must squint to make out her dark form. Perhaps the candles should have been placed closer. I did not take into consideration Isabella's dark clothing. A wicked smile spreads across lips not used to any sort of smile. If one cannot see then will it not be forgiven if one must search the darkness with seeking hands? If they come to rest upon a warm supple form the impropriety can be dismissed as an honest mistake. Did I subconsciously gauge the distance light from the fireplace could reach? If so I will blame it on my inner demon. He is responsible for all my bad deeds.

Without seeming to move at all soon I am much closer to Isabella. I feel the warmth of her flesh radiating around her. How would it feel to awake to such warmth snuggly fitted against me every morning? The coldness of my bed has been a sore point all of my life. The vast emptiness of the space beside me mocks cruelly in the lonely hours when sleep should bring blessed relief from everyday trials.

Deftly dipping a berry into the chocolate I raise it toward Isabella's mouth huskily instructing her to open her mouth. Sexual tension lowers the timbre of my voice giving me the sound of a man used to inhaling tobacco on a regular basis.

Like a bird being feed by its mother Isabella obediently drops open her luscious lower lip. Nothing I imagined compared to how arousing it is to watch her lips close around the rounded flesh of the fruit. Like a man drugged beyond control of his faculties my eyes follow the slow glide of her tongue as it licks away a mixture of chocolate and sweet strawberry nectar. Drawn helplessly forward I cannot take my gaze away from the shimmer of residual juice left behind despite her efforts to remove the sticky substance.

For a moment Isabella startles to see me moving toward her. Do I imagine it or does her bosom begin to rise and fall at a faster pace than before. Again her wayward tongue moves with sensual precision along her lower lip. Is it insanity to wish to be that blessed bit of flesh? If so, then I say let me remain insane for the rest of my days.

With more control than I feel I slowly place my mouth over hers. That first taste nearly drives me over the edge. Taking the kiss deeper brings a sigh or groan from Isabella. The level of my inexperience does not give me any ready answer. Instinct alone guides me on this journey. All the books in the world could not prepare a person for the reality of such an intimate exchange.

I feel cheated not having any memory of this sort of pleasure when Christine kissed me. Perhaps I did at the time but events afterward wiped any pleasant recollections from my mind. Those kisses came at a time when duress claimed most of my thoughts. Now only vague reminiscences are left to prove I did not imagine Christine's last kindness toward me.

How we came to be lying down I cannot say. One moment we are sharing an earth shattering kiss then the next I am sprawled across my amour like a lecherous stagehand. Contrary to my belief my face is about to be given a well deserved slap, Isabella groans out my name in such a manner as to inflame my libido well beyond the point of reining it in.

Who moved what where became clouded as sensations just discovered flooded our bodies casting clear sane thought into the wind. Clumsy we both may be but that does not hinder our exploration or expression of the lust fueling our every movement. By unspoken agreement those places needing to stay hidden remain a mystery. My one complaint is that although stimulating to touch all those womanly places denied me until now, I would much rather fondle smooth supple skin instead of silk and lace.

"Erik…" a voice from somewhere calls out my name. Louder now I hear, "Erik, we must stop. You…I…we…this is not the time or…what I mean to say is…"

Gradually the fog of sensation begins to clear. To save her from becoming bogged down in words to politely convey that a lady should not be taken upon the floor like some animal in a barn I manage to say, "Your first time and mine as well deserve something more opulent than a cold stone floor. Forgive me. You are a proper young lady and as such should have every expectation you will not be tossed on the floor and mauled by a degenerate too long denied the joys of the flesh."

I would be perfectly happy to stay right where we are but the lady needs more convincing. Now is not the time to breech her walls of maidenly innocence. For all she was willing now, later she would come to regret such an impetuous union, already regrets giving in to her desires. There will be other nights, other unconventional places lovers find where carnal encounters can be enjoyed.

"Oh dear, I fear I am making a mess of things. Far be it from me to claim to have any objections to your chosen…chosen scene of seduction or…or to anything you did to me. Were my responses to your advances so unskilled they left you in doubt just how badly I wanted to continue, would have continued if not for the fact we still are for all intent and purposes strangers?"

Luckily for me my mind can focus on more than one thing at a time for the movement of her lips drew my gaze. It mattered not what words she spoke, all I needed was to see those swollen lips still glistening wetly from my impassioned kisses. There is a small bruising mark just where I nipped that tempting skin with my teeth in the hollow of her neck. How well my tongue remembers the taste of her from soothing away any pain caused by my love bite. That trick I learned from one of many books on the subject of making love and how to reach satisfaction.

Regretfully I release my hopes of seducing her into further dalliance. Isabella confirmed our courtship, for that is what I now know I am doing, I am courting Isabella, she has with her own words committed us to another night spent in one another's company.

When I would have turned the flame up on the lamps a hand on my arm forestalled such an action. I prefer darkness to light. Isabella shares my preference. In that respect we are well suited.

The remainder of our night is spent discussing one innocuous topic after another. I do not feel as if we are boring one another. It is more a feeling that we need no words to fill the moments of silence. Just being together with someone you fully trust brings its own rapture. Then too, there are the stolen glances we pretend not to see.

While keeping up my end in this exchange my mind is also plotting and planning ways to sway Isabella to lie upon my bed with me. We need not engage in anything she might find objectionable. All I ask is that we get to know our physical bodies while learning the inner workings of our minds.

Distasteful scars crisscross over my back and legs. Facial disfigurement is not my only shame. Cruel caretakers used me to expend their anger and frustration. In order to ease her into removing clothing, even if only her gloves in the beginning, there must be complete trust between us. Life has made it so that revealing my body is difficult for me also.

Careful wording spoken in just the right tone won me Christine's trust and obedience. Will not the same approach win me what I want from Isabella?

Our return trip in the boat feels familiar enough one could assume we knew one another for years rather than occasional meetings over the last month. Isabella finds my company to be nonthreatening so much I am sure her eyes are closed and quite possibly sleep has overtaken her. Being with me is normally stressful. Ask anyone in the opera house and they will tell you just how stressed everyone became at the mere mention of my name. Every moving shadow posed some threat. There is some truth in that I willingly admit.

Abandoning my pole I take a seat beside Isabella. How far can things go inside a small boat? Taking advantage of her body pressed against mine I woo her by touch alone. Hesitantly I move stiff lace using only my chin. I am grateful the material cooperates for it would be awkward to have to wrestle it aside as an unskilled youth might do. I am free now to taste her and I make use of this opportunity to sway her into giving herself over to me completely.

Blood boiling bringing every sense to heightened awareness it is hard to rein in those overpowering urges to claim and conquer. Taking by force has never appealed to me at least when it comes to matters of intimacy. The body is sacred and thus should only be given to another by freewill.

The boat drifts steadily along on the current. The journey has never seemed so short from my home to the panel leading to the collumn in Isabella's box. The upward journey is even of a shorter duration. Holding her so close to me has its rewards. If the slightest inclination came from her that she would rather return to my home this very moment we would be back in my bed before we could take a second breath.

Before she goes I must find the words to ask for what I want. I am almost certain she wants the same, after all did she not say as much in her own words when laying out the rules for our relationship?

"Isabella, the next time we will share a bed." My rehearsed speech never left my mouth. What sort of man will she think me to be offering, no, declaring she will share my bed? When she tenses I quickly clarify my meaning.

Soothingly I run my hand slowly up and down her arm. Correspondingly a shiver runs through her. I am beginning to know the difference between flesh quivering in fear and flesh responding to sensual stimulation. My touch is welcome and dare I say, desired?

"Perhaps in my eagerness I did not express myself properly. What I suggest is we merely lie together so we may become accustomed to having another so close when normally we would be alone. It is a logical next step," my explanation tumbles out with less finesse than I would like. Now I am worried I did not state my case in such a way that I do not sound lecherous and inept once again. Curse my inexperience.

"Oh…well…if you think it best then I agree. After all I must bow to your expertise. My life has been absent of suitors but you…you…" she ends in a tangle or words.

Ah, yes, my vast experience, Christine Daaé. We both know how that turned out. My pride has not recovered enough for me to go into that time of my life with her or anyone. What next should I say?

Rescue comes in the form of Isabella's brother knocking at the locked door. If not for my pact to turn over a new leaf the man may have found himself in one of my traps or hanging from the rafters with a Punjamb tied around his throat.

"Isabella! Open this door at once. Who is that in there with you? Open this door I say or I shall be forced to break it down," he yells loud enough to disturb the whole opera house. He may not care but I am certain Isabella does.

"One moment, Felix, I have lost my shoe," comes her breathless reply.

When she turned from me I pull her back with a tug at her wrist. Coming to rest against me she must tilt her head to look at me. Those lips and neck I know taste like nectar and tempt me to want more. Resisting lifting that veil is getting harder to fight.

"In two days. Come to me in two days. The understudy takes over while the diva rests her voice. Come and listen to her. Tell me what you think," is what I finally say. I do not want her to think that I am only interested in sexual gratification. I am but it will sound crass to say it even to my own ears. What harm will there be in sharing other subjects as well?

"In two days, then. I shall be here in two days," she says softly. Her lips are tempting beyond my ability to resist tasting them once more. One last hard satisfying kiss then I am back in the column and on my way back to my home lest I forget my plan and simply kidnap her after killing her brother. Perhaps I may have to deal with him sometime in the near future.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

**Strange Days**

**Isabella's POV**

Flushed cheeks, lips swollen by Erik's drugging kisses and a body trembling from want is not how anyone, least of all my brother Felix, would expect to see when looking at me. There is not time to adjust my veil other than to pull it down the jam in the pins again. Several deep breaths calm the trembling. Since Felix takes little interest in me other than as a source of funds it is safe to bet nothing concerning my appearance will register other than perhaps the matter of my veil.

Unlocking the door it is shoved open without regard for my safety. Stumbling back I feel one of the chairs ram into me. My backward movement is stopped before I land on my backside.

"Isabella, why in the world was the door locked? What if there should be some emergency, how would anyone get in? It is I who has an emergency and you disregard my comfort entirely," he whines self-righteously as he slouches down ungracefully into one of the high back chairs.

Coming around I sit beside him thus giving me a few extra much needed seconds to collect my thoughts as well as allow the blush to fade from my cheeks. He may not be able to see me but Felix has an uncanny knack for making it seem he sees beneath my veil and thus can read my every emotion. It is quite unnerving.

"Calm down and tell me what is this urgent matter that needs my attention. If you have wagered more than your allowance and gotten into trouble with those thugs taking bets at the pub down the street you are on your own. I draw the line at supporting the criminal element at least beyond what I put in your pocket so you can put it into theirs," said firmly I hope.

Waving his hand dismissively Felix jumps up to begin pacing about. Something is definitely different in his demeanor. Pacing is for the nervous or worried. Felix is never either of those. Life is too much of a party to cause him any real concern.

"She is the one Isabella. Do not ask how I know because there is no rhyme or reason to it. Little did I know I would see an angel tonight. Golden hair flowing, swaying with every movement, body in tune with every musical note played. She is the embodiment of grace and beauty," Felix speaks with true admiration.

"Who is this lovely creature who has caught your eye dear brother?" I tease feeling lighter in spirits having just come from being with Erik and willing to lower my defenses for a moment.

"Her name you ask? Does beauty have a name? Does grace care what it is called?" he waxes on in an unaccustomed besotted fashion. Women to date have been only a source of entertainment for Felix. His philosophy is that there are so many women needing the skills of a grand lover such as him, that it is criminal to tie himself to only one.

He has lost my interest. Refusing to play his game lest he is in pursuit of some naïve ingénue stoically I remain silent. Not to play his game usually bores Felix after a short time. Other amusements quickly replace the old with the new.

"Georges said he thought she might be related to that Giry woman. You know, the one from before? The one who showed Raoul de Chagny how to reclaim his beloved diva Cha…Sharr…Oh it doesn't matter. _Her _name is irrelevant. Now Mademoiselle Meg, now she is not to be forgotten or ignored. Did I mention that only yesterday she returned to the corps de ballet?" he gushes just like some enamored young teen experiencing his first crush.

Little Meg Giry should lock her doors, the Big Bad Wolf is about to come howling at her door. Prowling around disguised in foppish attire he would wait then pounce on an innocent such as the Giry girl.

"Felix, Mademoiselle Giry is not your usual…quarry. Might she not be too young for your sophisticated tastes? Turn your powers of seduction on a woman better versed in such things," using my best persuasive powers I try to steer him in another direction, one far removed from Mademoiselle Giry.

"Young you say? What is age but a number? I have it on authority Mademoiselle turned eighteen some months ago so she is well on her way to twenty. As for being too innocent, it is my guess life in the opera house gives life experience normally kept away from the innocent." Lest I draw conclusions to the detriment of his amour Felix quickly says, "Know that Meg does not display loose morals or poor character. Why, anyone looking at her will see her virtue is intact. The maiden is pure as the driven snow."

This sudden interest in Mademoiselle Giry by my brother may put in jeopardy my hope of furthering my relationship with Erik. If the young woman develops feelings for Felix might she not seek council from her best friend raised by Madame Giry as her own daughter? It is said they remain close even after the disaster.

Near panic grips me as I imagine Christine returning to the opera house. Having the object of his desire within his reach once more will surely turn Erik's attention away from the woman with whom he only just formed a tentative bond. Losing this one chance to have what other women have is not to be borne. What action shall I take? How can I compete with someone the world sees as the perfect example of beauty?

"What is it you want me to do?" I ask warily. Felix is used to having women fall at his feet. Pursuit is not a word familiar to him. Studying my brother closely I must confess he does look like a man under some sort of spell. Never have I heard him express such boyish exuberance about anything or anyone.

Giving it consideration I must say this is the longest conversation we have had without Felix belittling me or asking for more money. A good woman could be the making of him but knowing how short his attention span is I worry about this young girl drawing such passion from him without having spoken one word to the girl. This also presents a dilemma for me.

Lights flickering indicated the second act was about to begin. For once Felix did not demand anything from me. During the evening his continued preoccupation with his new obsession left me to sift through different scenarios concerning my own obsession.

Only one solution seemed feasible. If I sought out Raoul de Chagny about hoping to persuade his fiancée, Christine Daae back for a one night performance at least I would have control over when the Pandora's Box would be opened. If I dictated the terms perhaps all might end well.

The Christmas holiday being only two months away now would be the perfect time to approach the two young lovers with an offer. One month of rehearsals should be ample time for Christine to have her voice back to diva standards or more precisely, Erik's standards.

Since I cannot keep Erik from learning about any of this then at least I will control the where and when he and Christine shall meet. With every fiber of my being I know he cannot resist wanting to perfect the instrument he helped Christine find within herself.

Wanting Erik to have the opportunity to prove himself weighs heavily against my selfish inclination to warn Raoul of imminent danger from the one person most likely to destroy his happiness. I must trust the devotion between the couple is as strong as everyone claims it to be lest Erik steals her away again.

For once Felix does not leave to my own devices at the end of the evening. Another deviation from the norm. In uncharacteristic concern from him I now find myself saddled with a companion I would rather not have beside me. Troubles of my own keep me occupied on the journey home. The hour long rock and sway usually lulls me to sleep but not tonight. Why now? Why does Felix choose now to abandon the way of the wicked? For all his posturing and lackadaisical escapades over the years there seems to be a passing glimmer once in a while of something deeper, something of substance in my half-brother. For that reason I will not discourage a courtship that could be his one redeeming grace.

Sleep eluded me even in my own bed. Tossing and turning only ended with me in a tangle of bedding. Time being short any meeting between me and Monsieur de Chagny must happen within the week. Left to me I would simply make the trip without warning of my visit. Society being what it is these things must be done with all the pomp and circumstance demanded of a person seeking an audience with a household either of equal or higher rank in society. Bowing and scraping has never been something particularly of interest to me either as the person being paid homage to or the one giving it. I do however play the game just as everyone else does.

One thing that did come clear during the night and that is that I want one more night with Erik before I spring this insane idea that must be played out in order to maintain some sort of control over dealings between Erik, Christine and I.

Believing I had another week of waiting before hearing from Raoul I contented myself planning what dress I would wear for the next few weeks assuming Erik did not cut off contact with me upon learning what I planned without consulting him. To spring his former paramour on him after the hurtful way their association ended may not be something Erik will tolerate or be able to forgive.

The letter addressed to me sat conspicuously on the hall table seeming to shout at me for my duplicitous action. My name appeared to enlarge in size upon the paper the longer I stared at it. Since avoiding staff is something I do routinely there is no time to linger. Snatching up the Pandora's Box I nearly trip on the stairs as I run up them in an ungainly fashion caring little if I resemble a hoydenish guttersnipe.

Only the closing of the door gives me a sense of safety. Clasping the letter to my chest I must wait for the pounding of my heart to subside before taking on the task of reading what Raoul wrote in reply to my own short note informing him of my impending visit should it please him to receive me. Being a gentleman if I was Hades himself Raoul's upbringing would force him to be polite even as his soul risked damnation.

Ripping the seal my hands shakily unfold the paper revealing the words just as I knew they would be. The only difference in the scenario inside my head had been Raoul and I would not have a third person looking on. Christine's name caught my eye holding me mesmerized by only her name written in ink on a bit of embossed paper.

Unwanted tears fill my eyes as all too easily a perfect face appears before my closed lids. That voice singing with such passion to Erik that last night on stage fills my ears with deafening clarity.

Beating clenched fists against the hard wooden door only delivers pain and bruises. I welcome the pain as it detracts from what is happening within my chest. Breathing is restricted by emotions unfelt by me before meeting Erik. Jealousy, pure and simple burns hotly urging that evidence of my idiocy be obliterated. Resisting ripping to shreds the paper somewhat mangled within my tight fist, I manage to smooth it out so more of the contents can be read. More than _her _name is on the page.

Timing is everything when it comes to keeping the nature of my orders secret that a carriage be readied on the day Raoul shall become a pawn in my game of moving human chess pieces on the board to suit my needs. Should Felix learn who I will be seeing, no doubt he will grasp this opportunity to insert himself into the de Chagny family. Whereas, I will use Christine as a means to curb Erik's tendency to grasp at what he wants Felix will use the connection to further his pursuit of Meg Giry. Better for me that I control the how and when of the former upcoming diva's return just as I surmised when first this plan grew to fruition in my mind.

Lucky for me Felix prefers to sleep the day away as this provided me with ample time to have the carriage made ready and board without any sign of my brother. Praying for more time to gather the right approach to this new wrinkle in my plan I hoped the drive would be sufficient. How predictable we encounter nothing to slow our progress. All too soon the grand estate comes into view.

If nothing else at least Raoul will be able to provide his future bride with every luxury. Erik cannot fault his nemesis in that area. Christine's welfare I am sure is paramount to almost everything else in Erik's mind. I like to think Erik's obsession with his young charge was really just that, an obsession. Would it not be inevitable for him to form such an emotional attachment? After so many lonely years who could blame him for trying to control her every thought and action. Justifiably Erik grew possessive as his emotional bond with her evolved from teacher and student into something more complicated as well as more personal.

Without quite knowing how I found myself being asked to come into the parlor while the master was informed of my arrival. Belatedly I called the maid back to offer her my card so it could be presented to Raoul as etiquette required. My shaking hands alerted me to the fact of just how nervous all of this made me. I can count on one hand the number of homes I visited on my own and still have three fingers remaining. The parish priest and the local physician account for the eliminated two digits.

The moment Raoul entered the room I could see why Christine fell for him. Handsome, strong and well bred. His natural kindness would have swept any female off her feet. Erik has similar traits but they are of a darker, more dangerous nature. If he had been in society mothers would have warned their daughters about the handsome rake trying to woo them into sinful actions. If anyone could be a Don Juan it is Erik. Oh if only…Now is not the time to bemoan Erik's past or any what ifs. Besides, my own selfish inclinations shout in gratitude there is someone with enough of his own imperfections to forgive me mine.

Watching the tender way the couple gazes into one another's eyes brings sharp shafts of jealousy in the region just where my heart beats. Forgoing the proper thing Raoul sits down beside Christine far too close to be proper. Oh, I do envy them. To be that confident in another's affections I do think I would trade my soul.

"Now Mademoiselle Fontaine to what do I owe this lovely visit?" Raoul asks in a warm friendly tone. He even seems as if he remembers me, but then, I am rather unforgettable. We did meet occasionally when Caroline still lived. Raoul being my distant cousin she could not keep me hidden when his family asked about my welfare. Though of short duration, I have always kept those few meetings in a special place in my heart. Not once did the young boy seeing me for the first time act as if my shrouded body warranted any concern or comment. On the contrary he offered me a wooden horse his grandfather carved for him. That horse is still sitting in a place of honor in my curio cabinet. I do think the young boy Raoul had been back then won my childish heart.

"I hate to ask but it is soon to be the season of giving and I wondered…Oh dear me I really do hate to place you in such a position. Please forget I came or said anything," so saying I stood abruptly ready to make a quick exit.

Just as I knew he would Raoul said hurriedly, "Please wait. Since you have come all this way and you say it is about something so important as the season of giving, Christmas in fact, at least let me decide what is or is not a position I wish to be."

Feeling evil and mean spirited for manipulating the poor man in this way I still manage to keep my ultimate goal in sight. Sitting back down as gracefully as my eagerness will allow not a second later, words are tumbling out of my mouth.

"I am sure you know of my involvement with the newly rebuilt opera house. In my capacity as an owner it is my responsibility to assure that the opera house as a public venue offers opportunities for the less fortunate to experience the arts. In that role I often seek out talent to showcase during special nights such as Christmas and New Year's Day," I explain knowing already the wheels are turning in the two young minds. Christine sits forward with an intent look upon her face. Raoul…well that scowl does not bode well for my plan.

Jumping to his feet agitatedly Raoul begins to pace back and forth. Christine and I follow his movement giving us the appearance of watching a game of badminton. Christine's frustration erupts before mine can for which I am grateful.

"Raoul please do not pace in front of us. It is very rude," she scolds the young man knowing I am sure she cast doubt upon his gentlemanly qualities.

Sitting abruptly down in much the same fashion he got up Raoul sighs running both hands through his hair. Slapping his hands upon his knee as a scowl wrinkles his brow has a calming effect. "Christine you know my objections to this proposition and they should be yours also. What…what if _he_ is still there? What if this time he will not rest until he has you in his clutches once more and I am dead?"

Christine leaves her place beside me to take the place beside Raoul. Placing one hand on a shoulder and the other over a hand now gripping the cloth of a trouser leg in danger of ripping, Christine speaks earnestly, "Raoul, he released me. He let us both leave. Does that not count for anything? Please for my sake, for both our sakes, let us face this dem…this challenge together."

Lucky for Christine she caught herself before completing the word demon although I do not think for one moment she referred to Erik. The demon distressing her I imagine is one that would worry any person having reached the pinnacle of their craft only to have it summarily taken from them. Will her abilities compare to the rising diva from one short year ago.

Silence leaves me with only the steady thrum of my blood circulating through my heart to deafen my ears as it beats out a tune worthy of battle.

Watching the two lovebirds silently send messages with only their eyes is unnerving. How can I help but wonder if once we are close Erik and I might share such a bond.

With a slight nod of his head Raoul agrees to whatever bargain he and Christine have silently made. Since no words were passed I shall remain in the dark.

With an unladylike squeal Christine throws her arms around Raoul nearly choking the life out of him. His laughter as he wraps both arms around her dainty waist indicates that for now the storm has been averted.

"Oh Raoul thank you. You are such a dear man. I promise should he…should he still occupy his old haunt and try to contact me I will only agree to a meeting if you agree it is safe," Christine promises and even I know she is deluding herself. She can no more withstand Erik as the shore can withstand the constant ebb and flow of the tide.

Taking his beloved's hands wisely Raoul says, "Christine I shall not ask a promise of you that you will not want to keep. I know…For such a long time now I have been aware how much you miss…_him_. It is natural if not palatable. I have thought of this very thing many times. Now the decision to take you back to the opera house is taken out of my hands."

"Why did you never say a word? I thought…well it doesn't matter," and with a smile she cups her hands around Raoul's handsome face then says, "I have missed him. I do love him but not quite as you imagine. Oh, for a time I did think perhaps I left my heart behind but that was only the child in me clinging to things from the past."

A look of reminicence overtakes her face as she says wistfully "For many years he was everything to me. Later I fantasized what he would be like and fell a little in love with the mystery he presented. Raoul he is not a monster. You know that in here," she pokes her finger into his chest.

"How could someone completely evil create such beauty? How could he have devoted so much time and care to a lost and lonely child? For that I owe him a debt that can never be paid. I shall attempt to do it by singing for him at his opera house once more," she says as a tear rolls down her rosy cheek.

With that settled only a short time later I leave with a promise to send along details in a day or two. If Erik murders me there will be no need for any arrangements other than my funeral.

The night I am to meet with Erik again is a mixture of anticipation and dread. Tonight I will begin to boldly ask for what I want. I want more of Erik especially if this might be our last time together.

Having seen the performance before even if in bits and pieces leaves me with a mind free to speculate on things better left alone. Maybe it is dishonest of me to want intimacy with Erik while holding back the announcement that Christine is to return. Just recently I find for once I enjoy being selfish. Erik may not be mine in the same way he is Christine's but for those few hours we spend together he is all mine. Tonight I want to imprint in his mind something so spectacular, so unbelievably unforgettable, that even if he hates me for keeping Christine's return hidden from him at least this one night will be etched deeply inside his mind.

When the hairs on the back of my neck begin to rise I know Erik is near. That sense all people have of someone staring directly at them draws me to turn toward the column that leads to Erik's inner sanctum.

Tonight my veil reveals my eyes and forehead as well as the portion of my lower face Erik has already seen. Overwhelming gratitude toward him for not asking questions or staring in any other way than admiration and yes, I do believe I was not wrong in believing he felt some desire for me. His kisses did not lie. Even now that same gratitude flows from me to him.

"Erik, will you not come and join me? As you can see, I have a bottle of fine wine to offer as an enticement to share your pleasant company," said in hopes that I do not sound as if I am begging.

One moment he is not there and the next he is. Is it any wonder he remained elusive until he wanted to be found? His first words fill me with emotions too long left on the shelf to whiter and die. He has revived that part of me.

"My dear Isabella, I need no other enticement as you have me completely under your spell," he softly whispers into my ear just before I feel his lips pressing against the side of my neck. Delicious shivers run up and down my spine.

The wine empties rather quickly. Under the influence of the wine my reticence slips away giving me courage to touch Erik in a way I would never have thought possible.

I must say I rather enjoy taking the initiative in this manner. Only my companions quickening breaths give proof he is not as immune to my bold caresses along his arm or tracing my finger over his hand. Placing my hand upon his thigh I suppose was too much as Erik nearly jumped out of the chair.

Without a word I find myself whisked away into the darkness of the column. No boat this time is there to carry us to Erik's home. Instead with a very masculine swoop of strong arms I now find myself clutching his neck as I press into his strong chest. His heart is beating so loud the sound fills the silence with a loud thumping in my ear.

Reaching his home by some convoluted pathway in the tunnels, Erik does not stop or put me down until we reach his bed. Only a couple candles must be lighting the entire area for it is nearly pitch dark.

Expecting to be tossed unceremoniously upon the bed I am surprised and thoroughly pleased when slowly I am lowered down then placed gently upon the soft bedding. There is a faint yet seductive aroma permeating the top spread and pillows.

The one candle lighting this side of his grotto flickers then is extinguished with a puff of air from Erik's lips. Oh to be that candle and feel his warm mint scented breath wafting along my sensitive skin would be a small slice of heaven.

The bed dipping from the weight of Erik reclining beside me now gives my nerves a jolt. What am I doing? For all intent and purposes he and I are nearly strangers. What I do know is something any sane woman would run from without a backward glance. Have I not known since an early age I am not what anyone considers normal? Is that not why I sought out this liaison in the first place, because Erik and I are two people with little or no chance of finding companionship let alone love?

Silence, complete silence surrounds the two of us with a claustrophobic effect. One of us has to find the courage to ask for what we want or else we may well die without either one of us gaining any insight into what all the fuss is about two people doing what God created them to do.

Nerving myself to speak I find I must clear the thick ball of insecurity blocking my speech. Swallowing down my fear quivering words come out so low as to be almost unheard.

"Erik, would you mind terribly much if I…if you…can I touch the skin of your chest," comes out in a breathless rush. So much for seducing him with my womanly wiles.

Movement beside me alerts me that Erik is leaving the bed. Rustling in the dark precedes the dipping of the bed just before I feel his warmth beside me once more. I may have found the courage to ask to touch but actually touching him is another matter. I do not wish to appear unschooled in the art of pleasing a man but surely he is aware that up until now my only exposure to what goes on between women and men has been through books and Felix's escapades.

Those few seconds ticking away seemed like the longest seconds in my life. Finally I rise up and lean over just as Erik seemed to have the same idea. The crack of our heads is loud enough to be heard.

Flashes of light accompany the sharp pain to my forehead. Erik's mask must have dislodged for it hits the stone floor with a clanging sound. His curses are audible but not shouted as one might expect. My own are only thoughts inside my mind. A lady does not curse, not out loud anyway.

"God, I am sorry," he says just as I say, "Oh Erik I am so sorry."

Reaching out blindly my hand encounters a firm jaw bristly with evening shadow. I suspect Erik may be one of those men cursed with the necessity to shave morning and evening.

"Stop! Do not…"he shouts in fear. What does he suppose I will do? The mask is already gone. The darkness is so complete I am like a blind person reading his face with my fingertips.

"Erik, if we are to be…if we are to progress we must both touch and be touched. Will it give you comfort if I remove my veil?" bravely spoken in the dark but will I have the courage to comply if he asks it of me?

"Yes," eagerly this is whispered far too close to my ear. When had he moved closer? Aware now of his body almost touching mine a prickly sensation covers my skin. Not unpleasant just different from anything I have experienced before.

My hands are already removing the hat pins out of the little hat at the top of my head when a masculine hand surrounds mine staying my movement.

"Allow me Isabella," he asks in a voice thickened by what I hope is desire, desire to know me, know me intimately.

Throwing caution to the wind I lower my hand to rest beside me on the bed. It is dark after all. If I cannot see, then neither can he.

Clumsily he begins to remove the pins holding everything in place. Is he shaking or am I? Perhaps we both are. At least I have no need to worry if I will compare favorably to another. How awful it would be to feel as if you are being compared to someone and coming up short.

All too soon the coolness of the room hits my newly exposed face. Warm fingertips tentatively brush over the plane of my face searching out every line. I pray the mangled skin does not feel as awful as it looks. I have had time to become adjusted to how I look. I still do not care to see myself in mirrors but at least over time the heartbreak of my appearance no longer brings on tears of despair.

Now it is my turn to do make discoveries. Tensing facial muscles alert me that Erik is still not happy to have me touch his face, particularly the side he keeps hidden.

With my mind's eye I am able to picture what my fingers are tracing. It is shocking to say the least but nothing as terrible as my own affliction. There are several places sticky with drainage from open wounds. Covering his skin all the time cannot be good for it. Even though my veil allows some airflow there are times when I must allow my skin to soak in fresh air.

Warm lips over mine remove all sane thoughts from my head. The brush of his tongue is all it takes to have my mouth opening eagerly awaiting that first touch of tongue to tongue. Who knew something so simple could be so sensual?

Instinctively I stiffen out and grab Erik's wrist when he would have released the first button at the collar of my dress.

"Isabella…please…let me touch you," he requested with an ache to match my own. Is this not what we both want? It is why I am here.

Almost I laugh when the front tie of my corset sidetracks his questing fingers. Not being able to rely on any to help with stays all my corsets lace in the front. Once Erik gets the hang of things I must say we both are glad of my choice of undergarment.

Erik's hands are not overly rough but nor are they smooth as some men's, like Felix's. For all I care they could be covered in leather as long as they continued to pleasure me. Complete bliss is denied me as I worry about what he is thinking, feeling, as he touches me.

My own exploration has found several scars across the width of Erik's chest. Prickly hair scratches against my palm. Even that is sensual.

Sane thought is driven completely beyond my capabilities as I feel moist lips tracing down over my neck all the way to my bosoms, that are reacting in their own way to this new sensation.

If feeling his tongue stroking mine felt like heaven how can I describe how I feel as his mouth discovers just where to seek out the most sensitive places? A very loud groan echoes from wall to wall. Will he think I am wanton? I do not care. For this night I want to be wanton, brazen in asking for what I want. My bosom…no my breasts are reacting to every flick of his tongue. I feel it all the way to the core of me in that special place left too long without a man's attention.

Tonight may be my one and only night with Erik if he takes the news of Christine's return badly. Not the returning part but the part where I kept it from him.

Where I found the courage to place my hands on his shoulders then push him down onto the bed I cannot fathom. Tonight is a night for throwing caution and restrictions to the wind. Let me fly away with them.

The loud thundering is not my heart alone for Erik's is beating strong enough to vibrate through his chest. I would like to say at this point I became a Jezebel, a siren well versed in the ways of pleasuring men but my uncertainty proves just what a novice I am. Trial and error will have to suffice as I am not so bold as to ask Erik where to touch him or place my kisses.

Contact with the taught skin of his stomach elicits a loud groan. Since he is not pushing me away I will take this as a sign of approval.

Prickly hair covers his chest, not an overabundance of it but enough to know he is a man and not a boy. Erik may have a pale cast to his skin but he is taught in all the right places. Sunlight may be a deficit but exercise is not.

With urgent hands I am lifted up so he can reach my lips. Devoured, ravaged, possessed, are all fit words to describe how I feel. Fingers tunneling through my hair displace all my pins. One moment I am splayed across a hard chest, the next I am on top of him with not a hairs breath between us. Thrusting manhood presses demandingly against me. The sheer size of it gives me pause for only a second. Movement of any kind is limited what with two strong arms locked around me holding me in place.

Sudden movement beneath me shocks me, not because it is unpleasant, on the contrary it is all too thrilling. Fully clothed and Erik still manages to bring me almost to completion. My mind cannot wrap around what it will feel like to be fully possessed by him.

As sudden as this part started it ends when Erik thrusts me none too gently to the side. I do believe I hear swearing being muttered under his breath

"Erik what…" I start only to be cut off with words seemingly spoken in anger.

"Do not speak. If you do not wish to be ravaged be silent. I am a man and can stand only so much temptation."

"I thought this was what you wanted," comes out weaker than I would have liked.

"Of course it is what I want you daft woman. What man in his right mind would not want…this?" I sense more than see him waving his hand about.

"Then why?"

Hearing the scrapping of his hands over his face in frustration only bewilders me further. I am willing; he is willing, what is the problem?

"Isabella, you are too innocent to know…to realize just what taking such an action represents, how profound an experience it is for a woman. Once we…unite it cannot be undone," he concludes just as he turns and takes me into his arms.

"When we become lovers I want no regrets on either of our parts. We shall know one another in mind as well as in body. Believe me it is not easy for me to deny myself what is offered willingly after so many years of deprivation," he says with a bit of shame.

Oh that darn Christine…no…that is not fair. Besides who am I to judge her? I do not know her personally. All I know is what I have heard through gossip and what I observed during our one and only meeting.

Before I can gather my thoughts he has left me and the bed. With an abrupt, "Dress and meet me out in the outer chamber."

Now that the time of reckoning is at hand I find myself dawdling. My excuse is that it took an extraordinarily long time to find a match to relight the candle. Then I had to replace my pins and veil, straighten my clothing and search the bed for any stray pins. I would not want Erik to be skewered while sleeping.

At last there are no more delays I can take without calling myself a coward.

Erik is standing facing the fireplace with his hands clenched against his thighs. If made from wood he would not be any stiffer.

"Erik…I…there is something…I have something I must tell you. Something I know will upset you but just know it was done with the best intentions," speaking to his back gives me no clue as to his present state of mind.

"I…a few days ago…or more accurately a week or more…I…well I sent a letter to Raoul de Chagny." Swiftly he turns and my thought is that I am now to die never having made love with Erik.

"Isabella, tell me this is a jest in bad taste.

Now I must face the music and here I am without a tune in my head. Daft woman indeed.

**A/N: Alright, we'll stop right there for now. Tomorrow we will get things from Erik's perspective. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

**Bewitched**

**Erik's POV**

I miss her. Damn it I miss her. Punishing her by ignoring her efforts to contact me I fear causes me more suffering than it does Isabella. How did this woman come to mean so much to me in so short a time?

Telling myself it is only because she is a willing woman is a lie. That is a small part of it but not the main reason for my reaction to her absence. It is too soon for me to analyze just what emotions she brings out in me. I rushed with Christine. I will not rush anything in my relationship with Isabella.

It has taken only one week for me to seek out her company. Even if I do not speak to her at least I can see her. Observing Christine satisfied me for many years. Isabella is another matter altogether. Just looking from behind my walls and mirrors is not enough. Speaking to her without being able to touch her is not something I wish to pursue. Recalling every touch, every kiss is killing me. I want and need her touch. My ears feel deprived of her soft sensuous voice.

Notes left in my box and hers proves I am in her thoughts just as she is in mine. How many ways can someone apologize? Those written heartfelt words are not mere lip service. Even as it shames me it also elates me to listen as she weeps out her pleas for me to forgive her.

Upon further consideration I find that in all honesty nothing terrible has been done. So Christine will return. Is that not something I prayed for almost every day of this last year? Isabella did this for me, not as a means to hurt me. Only someone who cares would seek out someone I cared for and offer me the opportunity to once again take on the task of teaching. I am certain this is not something I would think of or even consider doing for Isabella or anyone for that matter. My fear of losing someone I…I have a certain regard for would not let me endanger any tenuous relationship we may have.

If anger and hurt had not taken over my good sense Isabella would have told me all of this face to face instead of in notes. Confronting her means she might change her mind upon seeing me once again. Another rejection I fear would kill me entirely, not just in spirit but in fact.

Today's missive is merely a short note informing me Christine will be in the opera house today taking up residence in a dressing room just down from the one occupied by the present diva. If what Isabella says is to be believed Raoul de Chagny will not be calling out the gendarmes to arrest me. To please his lovely fiancé I will be allowed to teach her without any disruption. The only stipulation is that Isabella is to be present at every meeting between Christine and me.

This will serve a double purpose. Any residual feelings I may have for Christine will be tempered by Isabella's presence. It will also give her some reassurance as to what goes on during any meetings.

Leaving the note in Isabella's box I planned to leave but something glued my feet where they were in my hidden place of her box. I wanted to see her. Observing her fully clothed will not give me any clue as to how she receives my words but body language can often tell its own story. Do not mimes tell complete stories without a single spoken word?

My reward for standing patiently for an hour is received when Isabella eagerly snags the paper and clutches it to her chest. The wax is summarily crumbled to small particles on the carpet as her hands excitedly tear at the paper.

I am sure it is a sigh of relief I hear as she falls back into her seat. Hastily a handkerchief is removed from her small bag. I have brought her to tears. If not for seeing her clutch the note to her chest I might have taken her tears for fear of me or worry I might exact some revenge.

I'll not speak to her now. Isabella is a private person and as such might not care for me watching her moment giving into tears. Pride is something I do know must be kept intact whenever possible. My resistance to seeking out Christine puzzles me but with Isabella on my mind so completely other worries are set aside.

One night later I find I am once again viewing my newest obsession through secret means. Observing is no longer satisfactory. Tonight Isabella no sooner takes her seat and I am sitting there right beside her. Without turning her head in my direction she says politely but with some measure of warmth, "Good evening Erik. I am pleased to have you join me."

My ears tingle with the sensual sound of my name on her lips. When, if ever, has someone addressed me so cordially and without an ounce of fear or loathing? Never, that is when. The emotions flooding through me are unknown to me. All I recognize is the urge to pull Isabella into my arms and never let her go. I will restrain that urge.

Flickering of the lights warn us the lights will be turned down soon so the performance will begin. Before any light is lost I turn my head to study the woman seated beside me. Imagine my surprise to find her studying me just as thoroughly as I study her. Tonight I am blessed with a glimpse of a pair of brown eyes. There is no guile or shock coming from her eyes. If anything there is acceptance and some emotion warming them to a deeper brown.

Apart from a few worry lines settled between her brows all I see is perfection. The veil hides her nose and cheeks from my prying eyes. Those lips I remember so well are twitching with a tentative smile. Is there some flaw I do not see? Am I allowing my mind to trick my eyes because it is what I want to see? Isabella claims to be hideous and there is nothing I can recall that would dispute what is commonly accepted by everyone.

The lights dim for the performance and the theater becomes quiet awaiting the first musical notes from the orchestra. For all I took notice every last one of them could croak like frogs. Wrestling with this newest puzzle takes all of my concentration, or so I believe.

No sooner had the lights been turned down than I felt a naked hand cover mine. Wanting to look I resist. Her trust in me is such a tenuous thing just as mine is in her. When she is ready to reveal more to me I will look my fill. Until then touch will suffice. I have studied her enough that each revealed portion is etched in my memory. The removal of the glove is not an invitation to satisfy my curiosity at her expense.

Throughout the performance my attention wanders from what is on stage to the woman by my side. Exploring that one hand is so tempting but those tendencies must be kept under control. The flesh of her palm feels soft and smooth. If only an inch or so of flesh will be revealed during each meeting it may well take half the year before I am blessed with all of her. The question is, can I sustain this new controlled persona or will rampant urges drive me to commit unforgivable actions? I must.

The performance ends far too soon to suit me. Was it of a short duration or did Isabella take my entire attention away from everything else?

So much for an intelligent conversation with Isabella concerning the performance or the performers. It could be brilliant or the worst sort of trash ever written. How would I know the difference? Who really cares? That is the measure of my regard for this woman. Music and my beloved opera house have taken second place in my heart. Even Christine does not seem so all important as she used to. I cannot deny I look forward teaching her as well as seeing her but...Well to simplify it things change. I am changing as well. All due to Isabella's entrance into my lonely life.

Lingering afterward it occurs to me that usually at the end or beginning of a performance Felix makes a visit demanding money. Tonight he is conspicuously absent.

"Isabella far be it for me to pry but I could not help but notice your brother did not come make his usual demands. He is well I trust?" As if I give a fig for that sot.

"Oh well, that is another thing I must discuss with you. It appears my dear stepbrother has made the acquaintance of little Meg Giry," she explains haltingly as if afraid of my reaction. Indeed she is right to fear what I feel about this bit of news. Meg is someone I will not let anyone trifle with let alone that debauching Felix Montague.

"Brother or no brother, if he so much as musses one hair, causes one tear to fall let alone taking an innocent like Meg down the garden path. there will be no place he can hide to avoid my wrath," I say with pure malice. I despise men who prey on innocent girls with no thought of the consequences. Why, Meg feels almost like a younger sister to me. I watched her grow up. I visited her as she slept in the cradle made with her father's own hands. Ignore her existence may be my past with her but now...I will not let anyone trifle with my family.

"Calm yourself Erik. Normally I would agree with your anger but something about her has changed him. Nothing so grand as a complete change of character but she is beginning to work her magic. Why even this morning he inquired if I might find him a position here in the opera house. Work, actual, honest to goodness work. He has not lifted a finger other than to raise the next pint or roll the next dice. Something, someone, is changing him. For that I am eternally grateful. For the longest time I thought him lost to sin. Perhaps his Blond Angel will save him from himself."

Talk of angels will forever bring a twinge to my heart. If any woman can change a reprobate it is dear kind Meg. Under the right tutelage who is to say what might happen? If I can feel changes within myself after so few meetings with a good woman then I feel I must allow Felix to prove himself. Heaven help him if he missteps or backslides. The world is not a big enough place to hide.

Feeling that matter is settled to my satisfaction I move on to more important matters. Christine will have to be dealt with and now is the proper time. Putting it off will only have Isabella giving credence to the possibility I am afraid to be near my former student without making off with her.

"Isabella tomorrow I feel is an opportune time to begin teaching Christine. I know she comes to the opera house reacquainting herself with the stage and its acoustics. I would have made myself known to her but as per our agreement I waited until you and I can schedule this meeting together as you will need to be present," I say with less resentment than I thought I might feel.

A swift turn of Isabella's head in my direction then a steady look from her mesmerizing eyes is the only indication the woman is less than pleased by my words. Was this not her idea in the first place? Does her distaste come from my near demand she agree to the arrangement or possibly something else...dare I imagine jealousy has Isabella's eyes nearly spitting fire at me?

Turning abruptly away she says coldly, "Tomorrow is not a good day for me. Perhaps next week..."

"Next week? That will waste too much time. If you cannot make it to our session then we will manage on our own. It is not as if we have never done so before. In fact I much prefer no distractions when I teach," is the reasonable offer I make.

"I will rearrange my schedule," comes out hurriedly before I can speak again.

Schedule? What sort of schedule does a hermit have? Being less of a loaner than I Isabella does have obligations but I know for certain nothing on her agenda can be moved with little trouble.

"Well then, tomorrow just after breakfast. Be in Christine's dressing room. I will have word sent to her informing both Raoul and her of our suggested day and time for our first meeting," again I fear my lovely Isabella believes I am commanding rather than asking as her head whips around so fast the lace of her veil slaps me across my face. Narrowing my eyes I wonder if she meant for that to happen or if it was fortuitous accident.

"Since you have everything under control there is no more to be said. I believe I will not come down tonight. I feel...I have a headache," weakly offered and sounding dreadfully insincere.

I have known of women using headaches to stave off advances from males they feel disinclined to share intimacy but to have Isabella use this tactic just because of her uncertainty in our relationship is not something I will tolerate or let continue. I know there is nothing to worry about now I must relay that fact to my lady in no uncertain terms.

Coming to stand in front of her I reach out both hands. I do not have long to wait for her hands to lay within my own. Pulling upward with enough force so Isabella is forced to come to rest against me I take advantage of her nearness. Enfolding her within my arms I kiss her with a well remembered passion. A warm rush of air brushes my lips as her sigh leaves her mouth.

Our mouths meld together perfectly. There is no hesitation, no awkward tilts of our heads. We come together as if this is something we have done for many years. Wanting to feel every part of her aligned with every part of me I scoop her up. Feel leaving the ground elicits an approving moan just as two arms encircle my neck.

How long we are lost in passion, I am not clearheaded enough to know nor is it important. What is important is that Isabella responded to my advance without any trepidation. We both gave freely to the other. Sharing this sort of one to one trust I feel is something sacred. I believe I would trust Isabella with my life. I have never thought that of another human being in all of my life. My complete trust in this woman is all the evidence needed to fit the whole puzzle together. I am in love, madly, deeply, for always in love.

Reluctantly removing my mouth from hers I find myself needing several deep indrawn breaths to calm my fast beating heart. Emotions at last tamped back down I am now able to give Isabella my full attention.

Once again I am drowning in the dark depth of her eyes. It is I who claims to be a master manipulator but this woman has me under her spell to the point I would do anything she asked. A crook of a finger and I will come lay at her feet. Being the person she is I know nothing will be asked of me that I am not ready to give. My heart, mind and body I feel are already resting in the palm of her hand.

One last soul twisting kiss, then we part.

"Oh, my," is whispered in bewilderment.

"Oh my, indeed," I say only slightly more firmly than Isabella. Hands I just ordered to release her are now running up and down her arms. The fabric is soft satin. Cursing the designer for making the sleeves full length is all I can do to show my displeasure with denial of touching flesh to flesh. Even her glove has been returned to its rightful place.

Isabella seems as reluctant to part from me as I am reluctant to part from her. So preoccupied with touching her I did not take notice of how freely my own flesh was being explored. It does not even occur to me that I should be worried lest she removes my mask during her foray of discovery.

The quiet around us signals that almost everyone has gone from the building. We must leave also. Cleaners will be making their rounds soon.

Tilting up Isabella's chin with my finger I say, "Tomorrow, after breakfast, Christine's dressing room, I will see you then."

"Yes Erik I will see you then." Does her voice sound wistful? Eerily she reminds me of Christine during those times I used my voice alone to control her. She often spoke as if in a dream. It is to be hoped I did not unconsciously seduce Isabella unknowingly.

In the end it is I making the first move to separate. There is some pleasure taken with me that she is not eager to part from me even when I am drawing her censure for actions she perceives as suspect.

Contrary to my expectation to be kept awake all night worrying what I will say to Christine, I fall quickly into a deep restful sleep. All my nights since meeting Isabella have been calmer and without any recurring nightmares.

Only when I am standing just behind the mirror does any trepidation take hold. Will all my newfound confidence disappear in a puff of smoke? My eyes landing on Isabella soothes me in an unfamiliar way. I know in my heart everything will be alright, it must be.

Christine is just as lovely and innocent as I remember. The difference this time is my entrance does not give her a jolt of surprise. If my eyes are not deceiving me, I believe I detect eagerness, almost a welcome in the blue of her eyes. Now I have two women welcoming me into their presence. Isabella's is not in her eyes but in her posture. I can understand her need to cover if she feels in any way insecure in Christine's company. I know the full veil is not due to any doubt about my reaction to her.

Before anyone can speak a word Christine rushes toward me then embraces me tightly. Dumbfounded by this occurrence I remain stiff and unresponsive. As before when she kissed me I remain standing with my arms limp at my side.

"Oh, it is so good to see you once more Phan…maestro, to know you are well and unharmed," she says tearfully.

Pushing back from me her gaze is now locked on my face. I resist squirming about like a worm on a hook underneath that concentrated exploration. Isabella bless her comes to my rescue.

"Christine, remember I told you to address him as Erik. Does he not deserve a proper name," Isabella reprimands gently. How like her to be tender toward someone like Christine. Even jealousy does not bring out Isabella's claws.

"Oh, yes, of course. Please forgive me. It will take time to get used to you as anything other than my teacher. For so long you were only known to me as my Angel of Music," she says wistfully. A sound coming from Isabella's direction has me believing if I could see her face both brows would be raised in question as to any reference to me and angels.

"Well now, I do think we should get started. Knowing de Chagney as I do I think his patience will only allow us about an hour before he knocks at the door. Are you ready Christine to return to my home?"

Her eager, "Oh yes!" fills my heart with pleasure. I am glad to know not all our time together is remembered as something from a nightmare. And so now we begin.

**A/N: Please forgive my late posting and the short chapter. Usually I have my story all written and ready to post. This year things have gotten in the way of my writing. I only had chapter six halfway finished and no chapters afterward. So now it is crunch time and I am unsure if I can write a chapter a day. I will certainly give it the old college try. Please forgive any missed errors. I did my best to catch them. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

**Sweet Journeys**

**Isabella's POV**

Christine's face falls into disappointment as the boat reaches Erik's home. Not the thousand candle welcome she hoped to see. Chastising myself mentally for having childish thoughts does not push the gleeful demon all the way back into oblivion. I will allow this small concession.

How glad I am of my veil for once in my life as I notice the chair Erik has moved from its usual place by the fire to now sit close enough to the organ to hear conversations from that area without being close enough to interfere in anyone's concentration. It takes several moments for the embarrassing blush to fade. It does not help when Erik stands behind the chair with a raised brow as if to ask "is this close enough to keep a watchful eye?" Darn his smug hide anyway. If he did not look so attractive with his lips stretching in the beginnings of a genuine smile I might find enough irritation to get my own back later. As it is I am hard pressed to keep my feet planted instead of racing over to claim those lips I am learning to crave beyond anything I ever imagined.

I expected Christine's near worship of Erik. All she spoke of during our carriage ride and then in her dressing room is "my teacher this" "my teacher that" "my Angel this and that". According to her Erik is not a man at all but some Godlike entity able to walk on water and part the Red Sea.

Try as I might I cannot rid myself of all petty jealousy. She is a child still. With Raoul's help I am sure that someday the inner woman will be set free but for now I must treat her as I would any young innocent child. Seeing how tenderly Erik treats her is it any wonder he captured her heart just the tiniest bit?

I must say there are times when I glimpse something in Christine's eyes that is nothing childlike at all. I know that look all too well for it is in my eyes whenever I bring my gaze to Erik. Now I can understand how he took over Christine so completely for he has done the same with me and in a shorter span of time. He has not had years to weave his magic, only a handful of meetings.

If it would not seem petty I would allow myself a smug satisfaction as time after time Erik reprimands his new student. When tears threaten my tender heart thwarts any ill will toward the girl. Shifting in my chair noisily draws Erik's attention to me and gives the poor child some time to collect herself.

Startled by the glare he sends in my direction, that uncompromising green eyed stare lets me know I have interfered when I promised I would not. It seems any noise at all constitutes disruption. Erik opens his mouth as if to speak then thinks better of it. Throwing me out is likely what he wishes to do but propriety demands I stay. Besides, Raoul would not allow Christine to return if he found out his fiancée and Erik were alone. My regard for Erik will not let me be bullied out of the room either.

Christine becomes somewhat grumpy toward the end thus calling a halt to this session. All in all things went rather well. Next time I will bring a book to read as after only a few stitches my knitting needles were in need of rescue from the tangled mess I made. Gloves and knitting do not complement one another.

Back in Christine's room the three of us stand about not knowing what to do next. Christine looks at me and nods her head toward the door. Is that little ingénue trying to boot me out in an ever so subtle fashion? This is where I draw the line of my tolerance. Of course no one knows of Erik's and my relationship so one can forgive any trespass made under those circumstances.

Only one thing will settle any misguided ideas Christine has taken into her head during several hours' exposure to Erik's complete attention. What young girl would not be flattered by such attention from a male and one with charismatic charms as well? Before any lingering school girl dreams can build into a grand passion in her mind I will make clear just what Erik means to me and what I mean to him. This will serve to clear any lingering doubts Erik may harbor also.

Taking my courage in my hands I step in front of Erik then lift my veil slightly. Reaching up with one hand I pull at the back of his neck. There is very little resistance to my tugging. I don't believe he resisted at all really. Only surprise or perhaps shyness in front of Christine held him back. In any case once our lips met Erik took over with his usual passionate demands for my utter surrender.

A whimper then the opening and slamming of the door separate us although be it reluctantly on both our parts. Resting his forehead on mine Erik says chastising, "That was rather cruel Isabella and beneath you."

"Yes I know and I will find her and apologize. It had to be done Erik unless…unless you find you want to explore your newfound relationship with her. Is that what you want Erik? Tell me now and I will not interfere again. I will continue as only a chaperone," I offer with less enthusiasm than the offer requires.

"Isabella I am not a man who chases after one woman only to be distracted when another comes along. Do I carry some emotional attachment for her in my heart, of course I do. Do I wish to pursue her in the same manner I am pursuing you? Certainly not. What I had…have with Christine is special in a way that only comes once in a person's life much in the same way the grand passion comes but once."

Pulling me into the warmth of his embrace his next words leave me breathless. "Isabella you are my grand passion. Christine is my grand creation. My one chance to have my talents passed on to someone worthy of them. For you, I would give up my music if that is what would make you happy. Is that what you wish Isabella? I can live without having shared my knowledge but I do not think I want to live in a world that does not have you standing at my side."

That is so close to a declaration of love without the actual use of the word that I am brought to tears. Erik has expressed exactly my own emotions toward him. Trying to quiet the voice inside my mind whispering all the old taunts my stepmother used to repeat on a daily basis is so hard to do. If Erik can bear to touch as intimately as a kiss demands might he not also bear my most offensive self?

Even with his understanding of such things is it to be expected he will look beyond the outer covering and see the person inside just as I do with him? I do not claim that I am any more accepting than Erik is but with him a person can see what is shameful. Yes he hides it but one can imagine. No one can have the slightest idea just how flawed I am.

"Isabella, what is wrong?" Erik asks with concern as my silence continued on too long.

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing real anyway. Just my own insecurities getting the better of me. I am just so happy. Erik, you make me happy. I am just afraid….afraid to trust such complete happiness. " I cannot stem the flow of my tears.

At last I manage to collect myself and assure Erik I am only being a silly emotional woman. Skeptically he looks at me but at last must accept what I say. I take my leave of him and search for Christine. I do not have far to look. As I thought she sought out Meg. Who else would a young girl go to in times of distress? Her best friend and sister of course. I may not have that avenue open to me but know how those relationships usually work.

Not wishing to intrude I give them privacy waiting for one of them to notice me standing nearby. It would be rude to ignore me and neither young lady is known for snubbing anyone, even those they do not care to share company with.

Meg is the one to motion me over but I am certain Christine saw me and blatantly gave me the cold shoulder. I am persona non gratis it would seem.

"Mademoiselle…" Meg begins as I interrupt her to say, "Isabella please. Just plain Isabella will do."

"Mad…Isabella I have wanted to speak with you for some time now. Felix speaks of you often. In fact he too has been anxious for us to meet formally. I told him we have already met briefly when I auditioned for my place in the ballet corps."

It is true I was present during those auditions but thought I had kept myself sufficiently hidden. I am left to wonder what precisely Felix has told her. After much badgering from him finally I placed him in the department that manages goodwill between the opera house and the public. He is responsible also for ordering banners to be painted to display in the glass cases outside the theater and order printed flyers to be passed out among the crowds all over Paris.

Feeling almost as if I am just like anyone else my guard is dropped under Meg's innocent charm. Not by even a flicker of an eye does she display any curiosity or abhorrence. At this stage in my life I am able to discern if someone is unsettled in my company.

"I will speak with Felix. You must come to tea or if more convenient for you there are several very nice restaurants nearby," cordially my offer is given to Meg.

Turning to Christine who is now looking at me strangely, I ask in a friendly tone, "Christine may I speak to you in private? It concerns your…your next lesson." I am not sure if Christine has told Meg about the arrangement with Erik but I must assume she has. I am just as certain that when Christine arrived in the state of agitation she left Erik and I, Meg being a concerned sister would naturally want to know who or what has her so upset.

"Of course Isabella. Meg please excuse us. I will see you and your gentleman at supper tonight?" she asks.

Meg's agreement is given and we turn to find a private corner. Just then it occurs to me that tea with Meg might be an opportune time to meet her mother, Antoinette Giry as well.

Turning back I ask, "Meg will you kindly extend the invitation to tea to your mother as well. I am sure she will want to meet anyone who might come into contact with her daughter."

"That is a wonderful idea. Mother has been hoping to see you on one of your infrequent visits. I will speak with her then send a message with Felix," her girlish enthusiasm is contagious. For once in my life I look forward to tea not taken alone.

Finding a forgotten corner I work out just how to start this sensitive subject. Christine seems to have lost her earlier discontent as her face shows only mild interest in what I wish to speak to her about.

"Christine I believe Erik and I may have been unkind by our display of affection. The last thing he…we want is to hurt you. It did not occur to us to make an announcement that he and I are…well we are…we are together as…as…" I am tying myself in knots needlessly.

"Isabella it is alright. I hope you do not mind but I told Meg of my lessons with Erik. I also spoke to her about my…my feelings toward him," she stutters the tiniest bit at the end.

Taking a deep breath I ask quietly, "Christine if you look in your heart and tell me you are willing to severe all ties with Raoul and devote yourself to Erik then…then I shall with you both well and step aside. Please do not trifle with Erik again. Last time nearly killed him. I do not think he could live through it again."

Urgently she clasps my forearms and declares with heartfelt sincerity, "Please forgive my childish fantasy. Meg made me see just what it is I do feel for my Angel. It is similar to what she felt all those years toward her Phantom of the Opera. We can laugh now to think we both were infatuated by the same person. I do care for him Isabella, I care deeply. I suppose there will always be those nights when I dream of hearing his voice singing only for me, calling only for me."

In case I mistake her meaning quickly clarification is made. "That is not to say I hold out any hopes of us being together in any other way than teacher and student. If I had bothered to look closely I might have seen how different he is. There is a more settled air about him. I did not sense any desperation in him at all. Even when I did not measure up to his standards he only shouted a little. What true maestro does not shout once in a while?" she laughs at the end.

Taking my hands in hers Christine implores me, "Take care of him Isabella. He may give the appearance of being unbreakable but as we both know he is so very fragile in reality."

Needing to seek out Felix we part on good terms. My vow to keep Erik safe is one I will hold true until my death. My silent vow to give my life for his if need be I will also keep should that time come. In terms of time Erik and I have only known one another a short time but during our stolen moments we share more than most people do in a year's time.

Felix is in a happier state of mind than I have seen him unless under the influence of some awful mind altering substance. He is clear eyed and eager to speak with me about ideas for upcoming posters. He even offers to solicit donations from the area businesses to sponsor the less fortunate who will benefit from being exposed to the arts. Without a doubt this is Meg's influence at work.

How strange it is to carry on a normal conversation with my brother and not hear any cutting remarks or requests for money. It is refreshing. For Meg's sake I hope he can resist the old habits that filled so much of his life before.

"Isabella I must say I never realized how tremendously uplifting it is to accomplish something with my own two hands and using my brain for something other than to pick the next pony or roll of the dice." His enthusiasm is real.

"I must compliment you on your success Felix. Giving credit where credit is due I have to say the front of the opera house has never looked so attractive," I say and I am shocked to feel pride in his accomplishment.

"Well I must share the credit with Meg. That woman has a mind like a steal trap. For all she is young her ideas compare to the best in the business," he speaks proudly of his new romantic interest.

"Meg will speak to you later but I will tell you now I have invited both her and her mother to tea. You are welcome to join us. Is it not the proper thing to do, getting families together when two people wish to openly declare their interest?" For the first time I feel familial ties toward Felix. As with Erik my trust is not easily given. Happiness is not something I can take for granted. Enjoying what is in the present is all I can do. When the inevitable end comes, and it will, then I will cloister myself in my rooms and die there in solitude.

Our cordiality is so new we do not know how to take our leave of one another. Usually Felix tossed well aimed barbs at me then left with a flourish. Tonight I am tempted to kiss his cheek. What a shock that would be. Perhaps when I am more convinced of his changed attitude then I may find the courage to treat him like a brother I have some emotional attachment toward.

Before I can step through the door Felix calls out to me, "Isabella, wait. There is something I need to say, must say, to clear my conscience. I do not know how to begin. Meg advised me to be straightforward and honest so here it is," he says then remains silent for half a minute.

"Isabella…you are not…all these years mother and then me…we." He stops to begin pacing about the room.

"We lied to you Isabella. Not a complete lie but a lie all the same. You are not hideous as we claim. No, stop, let me confess my sin and my mother's," he nearly begs as I take hold of the doorknob.

"Isabella can you remember anything from the time right after your father passed? One night in particular? Meg said it will be better to reveal these lost memories to you gently but damn it I am not a patient man as you well know," frustration is in every syllable.

His words bring flashes of something. Whether a dream or something of substance I cannot discern. Feeling a burning on my arms I look down only to see the black material of my dress covering them. No fire has suddenly ignited. The same burning sensation is at my back, legs and chest. Feeling unsteady I grope my way to a chair. Felix gives me a steadying arm.

Is this some form of new torture my brother has devised? The reasoning portion of my mind says no, the portion living in fear of the world shouts out a warning to be careful, do not trust anything concerning my brother.

"Isabella it was not my intention to give you any upset. Forgive my heavy handed manners. Too long I have said and done what the he…whatever I like. Take notice I am curbing my cursing as well. Much more time spent with Meg and I can qualify as a choir boy," he jokes. It falls flat upon my uncomprehending ears.

All I want to do is get home to the safety of my room. I pray my mind can obliterate whatever horror Felix has awakened. I fear these memories more than anything in my life. Better to live in blissful ignorance than relive some dreadful night that I had to bury deep within me just to cope with living. Forcing a blankness inside me gradually the sensation of burning flesh leaves me. Unable to bear a moment longer in the company of Felix or anyone else I find my carriage and command the driver to make haste toward home.

With every whip of the lash on the horses backs I imagine the flames and smoke left behind. Fleetingly I wonder if last year when Erik started that fire I had some deep desire to finish what had begun long ago.

**A/N: Good heavens this chapter wrung me out. I tried to get the emotional elements just right. Hope it all came together in a believable way. A hint of what is to come. Enjoy.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

**The Impossible Dream**

**Erik's POV**

Listening in on Isabella's conversations is not what I planned when I followed her movements through the opera house. My intention to merely see her safely inside her carriage turned into overhearing things I am certain she would rather keep between the parties involved.

To have to listen to Felix reveal such horrible memories to Isabella nearly drove me to tearing the walls down. If I could have accomplished that feat then I would be holding my beloved safely in my arms at this moment instead of pacing to and fro in agitation in this dark prison. Nothing has been accomplished in the hour or so since we parted.

In days gone by I would have taken my frustration out on inanimate objects around my home or if anyone had the bad luck to cross my path during this time they suffered my angry outlet. Such displays will gain me nothing. Right now a cool head will serve my purpose much better.

My best course of action I believe is to make myself known to this brother, Felix. How I will manage not to rip out his throat is something I must work on before coming into contact with the man. Isabella may not even know how much she does care for that reprobate. Her voice takes on a different tone when speaking of his escapades, almost like a doting mother indulging a wayward child. Due to his lack of maturity and proper upbringing a wall had to be built around Isabella's heart in order to keep it safe. No matter what that rake has done she still cares. Perhaps it is her ability to love her brother after all his transgressions toward her that allows her to harbor any regard for me. At least he is not a murderer or extortionist. Both those sins I have committed.

An alarm signaling someone in one of my tunnels brings my full focus to this immediate problem. All my lethal traps I disassembled once Isabella came into my life so if someone is brave enough to enter my domain at least they will not have death as a companion.

The only tunnels anyone can access are those through Christine's old dressing room and a few of the newer rooms. All other panels are too well hidden to be seen and unless someone actively searches them out they will remain undetected by the naked eye.

I am somewhat taken aback to hear Meg's voice chastising someone. I am further surprised to learn her companion is none other than Felix, Isabella's brother. If that young dandy brought Meg into this out the way place to seduce her then nothing shall save his hide from being torn from his living body.

"Felix, a little dust and mud on your boots will not harm you. You owe it to Isabella to make amends and finding him is the best way to do that," her soft tones take the sting out of her reprimand.

"I am sure you are right but had I known what levels my restitution would take I am uncertain if I would have begun this insane journey," Felix says half in jest. I detect a hint of nervousness also.

Through one of my convenient peepholes I can see her smack him across his shoulder. Rubbing the appendage for affect he does earn a kiss upon the cheek from Meg. This comfortable manner between them speaks of a relationship gone passed mere friends. For that alone I want to take him to task. Meg is far too innocent for someone as jaded as Felix just as I was and am too jaded for Christine and quite possibly Isabella as well. I am not willing to step aside in Isabella's case. She is mine and as such I will protect her against any harm.

"So, dear Meg how are we to contact this man of mystery, this Phantom?" I can detect his skepticism. Does he not believe in the Opera Ghost or the Phantom of the Opera? Perhaps it is time he met both.

"Felix you need not sound so doubtful of the possibility of such a man. You were here the night the opera house burned. You saw him as well as everyone else did. He was real enough then and he is real today. Christine told me that Isabella arranged for her to begin lessons once again." Some fear creeps in despite Meg's brave front.

"Far be it from me to criticize but is it not somewhat tempting fate for Raoul to agree to such an association? In his shoes I would be locking Christine behind iron doors with armed guards on the outside," Felix says.

"If you knew Christine then you would know that quiet and docile as she appears on the outside there is a very determined woman beneath all that innocent exterior. Did we not have the same mother to teach us to be strong and go after what we want despite those telling us how useless things might be? How do you imagine Christine has stood against Raoul's oh so refined family as well as take on society's dowagers? Pure strength of will, that is how, oh ye of little faith.

"All of this caring for others is new to me Meg so I must beg for you indulgence while I navigate this new territory. For so many years I looked upon Isabella as a usurper when it is I who am living my extravagant life by her kindness alone. As much as I would like to think my blackmailing attempts were exemplarily, it is becoming clear Isabella merely tolerated me because there was not a pressing reason to be rid of me. Fortune is only a means to an end for her not the be all and end all it is to most people and yes I include myself among them," for once he speaks with honesty and no charming guile.

"Felix I know of your…imperfections. How could I not with your name on the lips of every girl in the ballet corps and the chorus. I also know you are trying very hard to win my approval. To ease your mind I will tell you that you are halfway there," Meg teases.

"Only halfway you say. I will need to step up my game dear Meg. Never let it be said I pursued a woman half-heartedly," he teases back or at least he had better be teasing or lose a very much loved part of his anatomy.

"Meg I hate to sound as if I am complaining but we have been down here for hours. No phantom, no ghost. Are you certain Christine did not let her vivid imagination to believe once again in this fictional character? She did so for many years after all," he offers sounding skeptical of their task. Perhaps it is time I make myself known.

Just before I can speak out Meg speaks with true horror in her voice, "Do not speak of him in such a manner. Those who doubt him usually end up at the end of his lasso."

"Ah the infamous lasso. Just where did our dear Phantom acquire such skill with this odd weapon of choice?" he scoffs once again casting disbelief upon my existence.

"Felix, must I remind you of his all too real appearance the night of Don Juan Triumphant? Did he not whisk Christine away to his lair below this very opera house? He is all too real and I beg you to show him proper respect." Do I detect just the slightest hint of near worship in her words? I do recall it was usually Meg catching sight of me when I allowed myself to be seen. It was also Meg who came into the tunnel behind Christine's mirror then again I believe her feet touched my home before the mob stormed in.

Did I not observe them until unbearable grief drove me deeper into the underground? I saw her pick up the mask Christine still clutched in her hand as I forced her to come with me. At the time there did not seem to be any need of my usual covering. A few hours later my naked face mocked me from the shallow pool where I stopped to drink fresh water from one of the many grottos throughout the underground.

Might I not tease Meg about that mask? Thus far we have not had any relationship since the time she started to speak. That childish voice saying my name chilled me to the bone. It felt too familiar. I had to protect the mistreated child I was inside much the same way Isabella does.

"Mademoiselle Giry to what do I owe the pleasure of your company and does your mother know that once again you tread on dangerous ground?" I say with enough implied threat to frighten most people.

Getting no response to my threat I say menacingly, "Have you brought my mask Little Giry? If not I have ways to punish anyone trying to thwart me."

"Oh stop it this instant. Christine told me only nonlethal traps remain. Besides if any harm came to me you know maman would hunt you down until she breathed her last breath," she speaks daringly. Foolish girl.

In less time than it takes to sneeze my lasso is around Felix's throat and pulling upward there I tossed it over one of the many rafters I installed to stabilize the walls. I will not take his life but I will put the fear of God into him or more precisely the fear of the Phantom and Opera Ghost.

Tugging upward the young braggart is tiptoeing trying to loosen the tight rope strangling him. It has been so long since I had anyone under my power in this fashion I feel the rush of adrenaline throughout my body. Careful restraint must be observed lest I take the life of Isabella's brother. I want only to encourage proper respect as Little Meg has already informed him.

"Erik, please stop this. We mean you no harm. In fact we have come to help. Isabella needs all of us to see her through this difficult time. Felix might have chosen an inopportune moment to reveal certain things but he did mean well. As you must know thinking of others is not something he is acquainted with on any constant basis," Meg pleads her case well. I feel ashamed and it is not an emotion I care to have revisiting me at any time. Enough shame in my life came in the early years of my life and in recent times. Events too numerous to name individually must be redeemed at some point before I die and am faced with the gates of heaven. My earthly life has been for the most part too much like hell to want to go there after my death.

My remorse is such that I manage to lower my burden gently until his feet can once again support him. Hastily my lasso is tugged from around his neck then tossed toward where they surmise I am standing. Since they cannot see me in this dark niche speculation must be from the sound of my voice alone. Being a ventriloquist, that form of detection is not a valid method either.

Hoping everyone keeps calm I step into their candlelight. Meg gasps and Felix the coward takes a step backward but then he recalls his position as a gentleman. Coming to stand in front of Meg I give him his due for at least some show of manly bravery. A little late if my intentions had been of the deadly sort.

Stepping around her hero Meg comes to stand directly in front of me. Tilting her head as far back as is comfortable our eyes search out the others features. Opening her mouth to speak she just as suddenly closes it. Recovering her tongue she says in awe, "I did not know you were so…so tall. I think I like your natural hair color better," she says contemplatively then in case I am offended she hurriedly exclaims, "Not that the wig…that this color…that is to say…"

Her floundering trying to make amends for a two edged compliment is charming but only in someone so young and honestly very beautiful also. I never took a close look at Meg once I made the decision to keep my distance but now I see how exquisite she is. No wonder Felix is turning a new leaf. Who would not want to do whatever necessary to win such a grand prize? Isabella is such a prize even if her features prove to be what others label as unacceptable. To me her inner beauty and acceptance of my own flaws is worth more than beauty in the artistic sense.

"Let us not stand in this drafty tunnel. Your mother will have my hide if you take a chill. It is not often I have guest but here you are two more who will enter my home in the last few hours. I must be careful or my head will be turned by such eagerness for my humble company." So saying, I gesture with my hand for them to follow me. Meg looks intrigued as well as expectant. Felix has the appearance of a man about to come to an unpleasant end with no way to stop the inevitable.

For a few minutes I allow Meg to explore and enjoy her praise for the improvements I have made. If she had visited me in the days before I stripped my home to gain Isabella's sympathy then this child would surely have thought she had entered heaven.

Getting the pleasantries out of the way such as offering tea, biscuits or something more substantial, the three of us stare expectantly at one another waiting for someone to begin this conversation none of us want to have.

In the end it is Meg who prompts Felix to tell what he knows of Isabella's predicament. If a heart can break it did as I listened to the tale of Isabella's suffering under the vengeful care of her stepmother. Felix did not spare himself in the telling for which I applaud him as I also want to throttle him. If that devil woman did not lie now in the family crypt I swear by all that is holy I would hunt her down and induce such suffering on her that for every second Isabella felt unloved and told daily how hideous she is, that woman would suffer twice as much.

By the end of the story Felix slumped down against the back of the settee clearly drained by such an emotional outpouring. I think this will serve as a cleansing for him. It does not alleviate his part in the ill-treatment Isabella suffered and still suffers today. It is up to me to change how her eyes see what reflects back at her every time she looks into a mirror.

Rather than chance sending the two wanderers alone into the tunnels I guide them to safety. The long walk there and back gives me time to think of all that Felix revealed. A plan begins to form. It will not be easy to change her outlook after so many years believing herself as hideous as a demon from hell, a gargoyle, the very same mythical creature I compared myself to when trying to win Christine's hand.

The next few meetings it is so hard not to rip every stitch of clothing from Isabella's body. Christine gives me curious glances when a note is missed or left out altogether. Her purpose is to test whether or not she has my attention. I hear all the wrong notes floating about as well as the skipped parts. Those things do not seem as important as they once did. I know the performance is only a few weeks away but I also know Christine is fully prepared to sing her heart out and win over everyone attending on Christmas Eve.

If I could trust myself alone with Isabella I would have called off these sessions. The way I am feeling it is possible I would give in and seduce Isabella, thereby trying to prove how desirable, how perfect she is in my eyes. Being an intelligent woman she would detect my desperation and call me out on my declaration of her beauty for I have yet to set eyes on the whole of her.

Is it so hard to believe someone can fall in love without setting eyes on the other person? Do not the blind fall in love? Did not Christine fall under my spell without so much as a glimpse of me? In fact it was not until she saw me in the flesh that the scales had dropped from her eyes. I was no longer this angel paying homage to her talent; I was merely a man pretending to be other than what he is.

Isabella my love I will make you see what I see, what everyone else will see once the layers of lies have been stripped and fallen away leaving you free to be the woman you were born to be. Pray God lets you still love me once the truth is revealed.

**A/N: Not so many reviews last chapter. I hope I haven't lost readers. I know I usually post daily for my Christmas stories but this year things happened that kept me from writing anything new until almost time to post which is why I am behind. Please forgive my lax posting. I do hope the story more than makes up for my tardiness.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Right away I want to apologize for my tardiness. Having four of my seven grandkids took time away from writting. I could have written on Christmas Day but being alone for the first time in half a century left me depressed. Not used to the all the silence when it used to be loud with so many voices speaking at once. Self-pity kept me from writing. Decided to brush myself off and get on with it. Only sensible thing to do. So here it is. Enjoy. Pardon any errors as I didn't do my usual three edits. Just wrote it then posted it. **

**Chapter Nine**

**The Road to Revelation**

**Isabella's POV**

Nervously I pat my hair trying to avoid catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Erik has been acting so strangely this past week. He continues to teach Christine and has even gone so far as to pen a letter of apology to Raoul for everything that occurred a year ago. No return letter came but he did send word with Christine that so long as Erik remained true to his word not to interfere in Christine's return to the stage everything will not be forgotten but shall be now and forevermore forgiven.

I must say if Erik did half the things to me that he did to Raoul my forgiveness might remain unspoken. Twice Erik nearly killed the young man. Only a slip in the snow beneath their boots saved Raoul according to Erik's own account of the encounter. He is not proud of any part he played in the disruption of opera house business. It pleases me that he has not once made a demand for recompense for his services unsolicited or otherwise.

Strangely Erik pays more attention to me than to Christine. The poor girl is bewildered by his odd behavior as am I. Flattering as it is I made a point to include her when I feel it appropriate. Complimenting her progress does bring a smile to her lips and a sparkle to her eyes. Following my lead Erik does eventually pay Christine the proper homage she expects as his one and only pupil.

Real or imagined I do think Erik is gently persuading me that it is time we begin spending some time alone once again. Today I received in the post a short letter. The words leaped out of the page and their could be no mistaking their meaning. Inside printed in his familiar scrawling penmanship was an invitation to dinner. So there would be no misunderstanding he underlined in bold red and capitalized the word ALONE. My company is all he needs. How can one argue with something that aligns so exactly with what you want?

So here I am now giddy as a young maiden coming out at her first debut ball. Erik has been extraordinarily patient with me but I do feel his patience is at an end. Knowing that someday I would have to bare all is one thing but to actually have arrived at that point is another. Of course Erik being a man with secrets of his own, it is likely the lighting will be dimmed if not extinguished altogether which suits me just fine.

Tonight everything must be perfect or as perfect as they can be. The proper dress, hair just so, bag packed for an overnight stay and instructions to the staff not to expect me for a day or maybe too, all the little details taken care of leaving only getting me to the opera house. Two days is what I told the staff to expect my absence to be. My days away will depend on how well our night gets on.

There will be no performance tonight. I am to go directly to a shop giving them Erik's name then I shall be driven by one of Erik's people. When did an Opera Ghost or Phantom acquire people? I like everything about Erik that I am learning as we further our relationship.

My instructions from the man behind the counter of the shop are clear and precise. I will board the carriage parked in the alley. The young man will drive me to my destination where Erik will be waiting. I not to speak to the young man as his orders are to mind his own business. Informed of the fellows loyalty and honesty I presume is a way to warn me not to go beyond the parameters of Erik's gentleman agreement with both shop owner and employee.

This cloak and dagger scenario is intriguing and adds a bit of excitement. If nothing else life with Erik will never be dull. Life, as in a lifetime of living? When did I start thinking in those terms? Has that idea been planted as a seedling inside my mind since I first saw him? Did I not dream of him once my head my pillow? Easily I can see many women finding Erik to be an attractive man, those with good sense at least.

Curiously Christine is not sitting in my parlor awaiting my appearance. It does not take much thought to know what this visit is about. With her performance on a few days away nerves are upon her. Receiving a note from Erik informing her today there would be no lesson. Jealousy still plays a part in her attitude toward me. Being a woman of an older generation does give me some insight into her mind. Erik is an unattainable object which makes her want him all the more. Should she obtain her objective I feel she would run straight into Raoul's waiting arms. Raoul is calmer and more settled, while Erik is as volatile as nitroglycerine and just as unpredictable. In short Erik is too much of a man for a young girl just barely out of the schoolroom.

Having so few visitors the servants will most likely be listening at the door with a glass so they might learn just what Monsieur de Chagny's fiancée has in common with me. For once I do not care if they spy on me. What good will it do them? I will make certain the conversation reveals very little of our business.

A tray of tea and scones is already waiting of the side table by my chair. I only ever sit in the chair that has the windows behind it so less light is cast on my regrettable form. Christine sitting in the chair opposite has a halo of light surrounding her. Angelic comes to mind even if it stings me to think it. Sympathy creeps in as I take in her red swollen eyes and quivering lips. The poor thing is a wreck. If Erik has done this too her simply by denying her audience for one day it frightens me how badly my own hurt will be should he find me not of his liking once he knows all of me. Thinking such thoughts just before my rendezvous are not conducive to a pleasant evening. Nothing, not my own stupid insecurities or Christine's pitiful state will keep me from taking a step forward if that is Erik's wish.

Before I can sit or say a word Christine jumps to her feet to fly across the room hitting my body with such force I stagger under her weight. Arms wrapped so tightly around my middle I am in peril of asphyxiating Christine weeps into my neck leaving a soggy trail of tears that seep through the lace onto my shoulder. My dress will be ruined and must be changed. The spark of resentment trying to burst forth into anger is snuffed out before my temper gets the better of me.

Her tear-filled question spoken into the stiff fabric of my veil muffles them slightly but still they are clear enough to make sense. "Why Isabella? Why has he cancelled? Am I not good enough? Has he washed his hands of me? Will it help if I beg on bended knee for him to come back to me? I…I do not want to live in a world that does not allow me to at least see him once in a while. Giving…giving him up that night was the hardest thing I ever did.

Sniffling into a lace handkerchief as she pulls away from me more heartfelt sentiment flows freely as if at last breaking through a damn. "I do not regret leaving exactly but there are times when i…I want him near…want to hear him, see him. To touch him or have him touch me I fear would be my doom. My will to resist would crumble as a sandcastle beneath the churning tide."

Dramatic flair is discernable but it is clear how deeply Christine does care for Erik. I can sympathize with her. We share the same unexplainable devotion to a man most say does not deserve to live another moment let alone live happily. I do think Erik is now content with his life. Knowing what has brought about his content generosity toward the poor child who has lost her Angel of Music will give me the words to ease Christine's heartbreak.

"Christine what nonsense you do speak. Erik not want you in his life? Ridiculous. You are precious to him. In you alone does he trust his music. Only you can give it flight from paper to the ears of the audience. What greater gift can be given to a musical genius the world locked away? Pausing to see if my words are sinking in I do see a light behind the cloud of drying tears.

"Christine come, sit. We will have a woman to woman talk. We touched on this tender subject before but now it is time to make everything crystal clear so there are no misunderstandings, no hurt feelings."

Tapping the cushion beside me I only give her time to settle before speaking, "You and I have the good fortune to know someone as special as Erik is. I wish to know him intimately. I apologize if I speak too coarsely but there is no delicate way to express how I feel about Erik and how I hope he feels about me. Today's lesson was cancelled so he…we may prepare for our…for our evening together," I end weakly for to put into words what I hope will happen this evening is far too coarse to speak out aloud in the presence of one so young. Let Raoul enlighten her.

Using the most delicate language possible my hopes for what Erik and I will come to mean to one another are laid out in the clearest terms I dare speak. Believing tears will once again rain down there is only wide eyed curiosity reflecting back at me. By the end of my speech I feel wrung out and hot color burning my flesh having to put into words what will happen between Erik and me.

If I thought her young ears burned from such blatant innuendo or that the color in her cheeks spoke of her own discomfort to hear such intimate details I must say her next words shock me into speechlessness.

"What did you do that made Erik want to take things further than a kiss? Raoul and I have kissed many times but that is as far as things go. I feel…somehow cheated when this fire builds in me that is doomed to fizzle from neglect. How can I encourage Raoul go seek more than a mere kiss?" Christine leans in expectantly all tears forgotten.

Asking me how to seduce a man would be laughable normally but I do have some insight into how to persuade a man you are interested. Hesitantly I say, "Well I am not certain there are any set rules on the subject but what I will say is the next time he kisses you find some spot on him to touch that brings a moan to his throat." Blushing fiercely I fan my hot cheeks forcing myself to continue.

"Erik is susceptible to having his ears touched. There is also a spot in the bend of his neck he particularly desires me to place my lips. Goodness…I cannot believe how brazenly I am speaking of such intimate matters."

Shaking my finger at her playfully I say, "This is your bad influence Mademoiselle Daáe. Seduction I fear is a subject beyond my kin. Can you not recall overheard conversations between the older girls in the dance corps and chorus? It is my understanding they are quite…liberal with their favors. " I will forgo informing her how intimately Felix is with those very women. Likely he cut his teeth on some young thing during Christine and Meg's days in the junior group of girls.

The ice is broken. Soon we are giggling and carrying on as if we have known one another for years. I only mind a little when she asks why I cover myself from head to toe. My answer increases the awe she feels toward Erik. I will forgive her this transgression for I feel at this moment I have a sister, someone to share my most intimate secrets without fear they will be bandied about carelessly. Is this what Meg and Christine have shared all these years? What a wonderful gift it must be to have a loving family to accept you as you are without prejudicial views getting in the way.

As I watch a much happier Christine leave in her carriage I too feel lighter in mood. Poor Raoul will not know what hit him. For all her shy outer shell underneath Christine has a young tigress waiting to emerge into adulthood.

Two hours slipped away while dealing with Christine so now my relaxing oil scented bath will be somewhat rushed. If Erik is to see all of me then at least I want my skin to smell as if drenched in pure beauty even if the eye will see something very different.

The coachman gives me his hand as I step out onto the cobbled alleyway. Without fanfare Erik steps forward to take over my care. My coachman scowls doubtfully at Erik who returns the scowl two fold. Is there anyone who can look as fierce as Erik?

A subtle wave of my hand signals his dismissal for the time being. It is arranged I will send word when I am to be picked up. No doubt tongues will be wagging among the servants tonight when I do not return and they learn just where I am. A steady salary that is heftier than any other employer within a hundred miles will keep the gossip among them. One word whispered that reaches my ears and all will be seeking new employment. I have done so before and I will do so again.

I feel a slight tremble in Erik's hand. It is a wonder I am not shaking life a leaf in the wind. I feel calm but feel certain that will change once we enter Erik's home. Being slightly behind him I can look my fill without being obvious. It isn't long before the distance between us is a fading memory. Grasping Erik's forearm with both hands brings me crushingly close to manly muscle and a scent that has my nostrils twitching in delight. It is heartening to know not only women primp when meeting with the opposite sex for whatever reason, mine being to seduce and be seduced. It is fairly obvious what Erik's intentions are, if those smoldering glances tossed in my direction are any indication.

Fear and giddy anticipation are at war within me. I do know enough about such things that it is normal to feel trepidation at such a delicate juncture in a woman's life. I cannot judge all men by Felix or his uncaring exploits in the past. For all he knows there could be dozens of his progeny running around Paris. I imagine any young thing that came crying to him after a breakup he sent off with compensation in their purse. It is to be hoped that is not the case. I cannot say I recall hearing any grumbling on his part about any persistent females. With Erik there is nothing to worry me as his life left him as untutored as I am. We will learn together.

The moment is at hand as we stand staring at one another in Erik's home. I do not remember how we came to be here. I have eyes only for Erik. It is to be hoped desire is the emotion turning those lustrous green eyes even darker than usual.

Taking hold of me Erik says softly, "Tonight there will be no over indulgence in wine, no problem with eating our dinner. Tonight is all about getting to know one another in the biblical sense."

He pauses I suppose to see if am accepting of his proposal or if I will run about screaming like the maiden I am. Too shy to say what I want out loud it is to be hoped my acquiescence is clearly readable in my eyes. My smile I hope is seductive rather than the vacuous movement of an imbecile.

Wordlessly my hand is taken as Erik leads me into the bedchamber. Facing one another Erik takes my hands and places them on his chest as he says, "Touch me. Learn all there is to know about me. I am yours to do with as you will. Tonight, there will be light, no darkness to hide what we are."

Before my protest can leave my mouth Erik is kissing me chasing every sensible word from my head. Head spinning I feel my feet leaving the ground. Am I floating or is Erik lifting me? Head spinning from overstimulation it is hard to tell up from down.

On solid ground once more my hand is guided to Erik's masked face as he softly commands, "Remove it Isabella. Take my mask and the false hair. Learn all of me. I want you to know me as I want to know you."

Hesitantly I curl my fingers underneath the hard leather. There is a curved piece curved over the ear holding the mask in place. Lifting upward inch by inch to give him time to change his mind at last I see up close for the first time. The light is not glaring but enough to make clear any imperfections. Touching that twisted flesh my heart nearly breaks as I imagine the suffering it has brought him.

"All of it Isabella, remove the last shield covering my shame," he orders just before he kisses me on the tip of my nose then both of my cheeks. My lips quiver in anticipation but are left wanting.

After the wig is removed Erik stands slightly away from me. At first he stares over my head avoiding looking at me directly. His head dips slowly until we are eye to eye. Grasping his face on either side I pull him into a deep kiss. I leave no doubt how I feel about him.

I am only allowed a few minutes to pay homage to him. Soon I am commanded to remove his clothing. My nerves almost get the better of me but I conquer my fear. Forethought must have been given as to how Erik would dress this evening. The cravat is loosely tied so it comes free easily. Quick as a blink Erik is shirtless. One would think I removed men's clothing for a living.

Little by little each part of him comes under inspection. Every scar must be kissed and caressed. My ire gets the better of me as I take in the many scars on his back but it is the burns from what must have been hot pokers that really bring my blood to a boil.

Erik is trembling. At first I believe it is from memories brought back to life but soon I am disabused of that idea when he turns to me with every intention of swooping in and conquering me. I will not have it, not now I am learning the game. Dancing away from him, my lips curve in a secret way that bring a growl from Erik.

Inhaling deeply he is once again under control. Stepping forward my fingers curl around the band at his waist. One by one buttons are undone revealing more than I bargained for. Fascinating is such a watered down word for what I feel as I look at my first male everything.

Closing my eyes gives me courage to touch places I thought forbidden unless two people were blessed by God's words. This does not feel wrong, only unknown and frightening. Buttocks to date were only there to sit upon not fill my hands. Erik commanded I learn all of him and I will obey. That is no hardship, bless my soul.

"Isabella?" a voice comes from afar. I am in my own world discovering the intricacies of Erik's body.

"Isabella, open your eyes," that voice is again invading a private moment. My name called a couple of times more bring me out of my sensual haze.

"Are you ready Isabella?" I am still not fully here in mind. Erik is like a drug lingering long after it has run through your system.

Forcing my eyes to life to his face he continues, "Isabella I want to know all of you. Are you ready?"

Ready to remove everything? Let him see all of me in a way no one else has since childhood? No I am not ready. I shall never be ready, especially with Erik. I want him to go on thinking of me a beautiful. Once he sees me no longer will there be an illusion of something perhaps beautiful hidden underneath the veil and clothing.

Looking at Erik's own vulnerability gives me some courage. He is naked before me, not just the revelations of what he hid beneath the mask or wig but him in totality. "Yes Erik, I am ready for you to know me." I sound steadier than I thought possible under the circumstances.

I cannot look, cannot bear to see the look of disgust in Erik's eyes should he not be able to disguise such emotions. Biting my lip I feel the rush of cool air brushing over my face. Carefully Erik removes all the pins holding the veil in place.

I feel the brush of his lips and hands over my face. Both of my closed lids receive a moist brush of lips. I am drugged once more from the taste of him just before he says encouragingly, "Open your eyes Isabella. I want to see how I make you feel."

I know there is passion burning in my eyes but also there is lingering fear and uncertainty. I at last obey his command. My reward is more than I bargained for. Erik is beyond mere passion. There is such heat in his gaze my skin feels scorched by just a look.

Can he truly still feel such desire after seeing me as I really am? He does not stop until I am completely naked under his heated gaze. Wrapping me scarred arms around my chest is not permitted. Erik takes my wrists and brings my arms to my sides.

No one has seen my shoulders yet Erik is pressing his lips against my flesh as if nothing horrid lies underneath those passionate salutations. Can he not see, does his mind play tricks on him, or is he so desperate for love he is willing to close his mind to how horrid I really am?

Erik has his own scars but nothing that can compare to mine. Under Erik's onslaught everything other than the two of us is removed from my mind. I make no protest when he whisks me up into his arms. Feeling the bed covers beneath me nervousness begins to seep in again.

I need not have feared I would be taken roughly or quickly. As Erik said, we will learn together and we are learning slowly, if anything too slowly for my sudden emerging seductress. Places that have never known the heat of want are now clamoring for release.

Moving between my legs brings an urge to clamp my thighs together. Instead I clamp them around Erik as he nudges against my womanhood. How he manages to enter me so tenderly is a credit to him when I am sure his body is urging him to surge forward greedily.

It hurts, my heavens how it hurts. Tears come that trickle down to wet the pillow underneath my head. Erik kisses the remaining wetness the whole time apologizing for having hurt me. All movement has ceased. It is up to me whether or not we continue. The worst is over as already the burning and feeling of being ripped in two begins to fade.

Has any woman ever been loved so tenderly yet passionately? I feel as if I left the world as I spiraled upward seeking that final burst that would release the coiled spring inside of me. Erik's release came with a loud moan sounding like my name just as he dropped weakly down onto me.

My own release pulsed on even after we lay exhausted. I felt tender, raw and yet more wonderful than ever in my life. I felt at last complete. I had someone, someone who did not feel repulsed by me. Erik found something in that while not beautiful at least worthy of his love and fuel for his passion.

If I thought once the deed had been done we would part then sleep I am happy to say Erik set me straight on that point. There were times when our lovemaking came slow and tender then there were those times when passion demanded a quick climb to release.

For however long I have Erik I will embed every moment inside my mind. Words of love have been spoken but how can those passionate declarations be trusted? Once Erik tires of me, the pathetic scarred woman I am will he not seek out someone more like…Christine? It tears me apart inside to even think of the end but I must prepare myself for the end, for it will come. Did my stepmother not say, no man could ever love me enough to overlook my wretched body? Until Erik I believed her words without reservation yet now in the afterglow of love I begin to doubt his words.

Closing my mind to that inner voice shouting vile words in my stepmother's voice I cling to Erik's strong body hoping to take some of his strength into me. Only when we are close can I still that evil voice clamoring to be heard. I will not let it ruin this. For however long it lasts I will not let it be ruined.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This chapter just did not want to cooperate. I sat down with one idea how it would go then my fingers had something different in mind. That comes from never having an outline for a story or any idea what will be in a chapter until I sit down to write. Just happy to have it done. Hope there aren't too many errors. I am forgoing any editing so I can get this up. It is driving me nuts not to have finished it by Christmas. **

**Chapter Ten**

**Mind Over Matter**

**Erik's POV**

Long after I returned Isabella to her coach thoughts of her linger in my mind. The past two days have had a surreal feeling to them. Every moment replays over in my mind as if it were happening now. I do think letting my intellect win out over my lust gave me a better return in the end.

Isabella's soft sighs and moans sounded like the sweetest musical notes ever played. What I lacked in skills I feel I made up for in patience and a willingness to seek her pleasure first. At first shy of my gaze, Isabella let loose the sensual woman beneath her shy blushes, under my persuasion of course.

Now I must turn my mind how best to approach the matter of Isabella's deformity, scars, flaws, whatever she wishes to call them. During those few times I did turn our conversation to her appearance all those terms were used as well as much harsher ones as well. Often it felt as if she merely repeated something told to her many times. Recollection of hearing the young boy I was referred to as monster, demon and Devil's Child for several years on a daily basis give me insight into Isabella's psyche. Those memories return with painful clarity after being buried for over two decades of dedicated control over my emotions.

Christine told me I was not a monster or demon but I did not believe her, could not let myself believe it for the longest time. Pitiful creature of darkness, words she spoke with such pity still haunt me on days when my guard is down. Why does the mind remember hurtful things more easily than kind gestures?

It is hard to wrap my mind around the fact that anyone finds Isabella less than acceptable. Only the cruelest of natures could take a small child and instill in them the belief no one can bear to look at them let alone touch them.

It is to be hoped the last two days spent making love and looking without reservation at Isabella has in some way given her some sense of her true self. My eyes see nothing but perfection but then I am looking at her through the eyes of a man in love. Even that is something I feel Isabella cannot believe in with her whole heart. To her it is incomprehensible that anyone can love her much less bear her ugliness for any length of time. No matter what I say or how I express my feelings in words doubt still clouds her eyes.

Unable to bear a lengthy separation only a day passes until my pen is writing an invitation to dinner. I do oh so subtly imply there will be an actual meal. Love sustained us for most of the last two days. More of these nights of unending passion will have Isabella and I looking like the skeletal persona many claimed to see throughout my days haunting L'Opéra Populaire.

I must forgo my own needs for now so that Isabella begins to let the scales fall from her eyes. In reality I know she is not perfect but then what person truly is? Perfection is relative when it comes to how a lover perceives the one they feel a great passion toward. It is not my duty to linger over imperfection only praise the positives I see. Years of watching from the outside I have seen and heard many things, human nature on its rawest terms being one helpful observation.

Living among humanity may not be something I have experienced personally but I do feel able to hold my own should I ever wish to move from my present home to something more conventional above ground. Isabella takes every opportunity to compliment the wonders found in my home but I would not expect her to live as I do. Not for her a lifetime buried alive.

Just when the idea of our relationship being permanent entered my mind I do not remember. All I know is that to contemplate a time when she is no longer a part of my life is untenable. When I look into her eyes I see the same emotion reflecting back at me. Healing of her soul must come before making any open declarations. Anything said in the heat of passion may not be believed. Countless chorus girls and ballerina's lost more than their maidenhead following some young man's promise of undying devotion.

Tonight Isabella seems even lovelier than the last night I saw her. Still she is covered almost entirely in black but there is an attractive lace overlay that adds a bit of seductiveness to an otherwise dour color. The scoop at the neckline reveals the swell of her enticing breasts. I alone get the pleasure of seeing her thus bared as her evening cloak covers what the veil does not.

This evening I have placed a rose on the pillow in the boat. Lips spread wide with pure delight is all I need to know I have made my lady happy. In the hours to come I will give her even more to smile about. My confidence in my skills in the art of lovemaking gives me something to smile wickedly about in my own right. Isabella I am sure blushes as her neck has a crimson tide flowing upward.

Lifting her into my arms feels almost commonplace, something which I had not thought I would apply to anything pleasant. When she closes her eyes after the veil is removed I reprimand tenderly, "Isabella, open your eyes."

Without question or even a token protest she complies. As I bare her arms I place kisses on every spot I know gives her distress. "I love your soft skin Isabella. Your hands are so delicate it is a shame not to let the world see them."

"Erik, that is kind of you to say but you know as well as I do…" My lips silence her words of self-deprecation.

Taking her hand I lead her to a large floor to ceiling mirror. I installed it specifically with this moment in mind. Placing my hands on her shoulders I turn her to face our reflection. "Look with my eyes Isabella. See what I see. Your face to me is soft and flawless. Your arms, how graceful they are. Every movement rivals the gentle swaying of leaves in a fresh spring breeze. Your hands have the light touch as if butterfly wings are fluttering. Not to forget the most glorious part I will only say your body is that of Venus or Aphrodite. A goddess, that is just what you are. My very own goddess."

My usual flair with words fails me as I am distracted by the very woman I am trying to wax poetic about. Isabella does not appear to find fault with my amateurish phrasing so I will let that issue seep away into nothingness.

Getting down on bended knee slowly I raise the hem of her gown. Lips and hands are paying homage to smooth thighs and the particular spot behind Isabella's knee that makes her wriggle in the most delightful way. I know how reticent she is about this part of her body and that of her torso. Lingering over those places marked by blemishes Isabella cannot think of as anything but horrendous, I will not allow her hands to draw me to my feet. I will do this my way, one lovely inch at a time.

"Erik, please. How can you bear such ugliness? I will not mind if you forgo…if you do not touch me….down there," she mutters with something close to anguish in her tone.

Looking upward I command in a voice never before used within her hearing, "Look at me Isabella. Do I appear disgusted, displeased or repulsed?" I only wait for her the shaking of her head before continuing in the darkest, most persuasive Phantom voice I can bring forth, "Touch here, feel how smooth and supple your skin is. Look in the mirror and discover the beauty beneath that I see every time I look at you."

Knowing it is of little use to continue trying to convince her that her disfigurement is not what it seems I will try to get her to see something worthy beneath that ugliness in her mind's eye. It took me this past year of soul searching and recalling Christine telling me the true distortion is in my soul rather than in my face before I could see there is something beneath my outward appearance that could be seen as acceptable. I had to accept my cold black heart held more repulsiveness than any physical deformity my mirror reflects. Changing the inward me also changed how I perceived the outer me. I cannot say I still do not see a repulsive face when looking in the mirror but what I can say is I am trying to look at it differently. I can no longer let how I see myself rule how I relate to the world.

Removing the remainder of her clothing we remain standing looking at our reflections intently. "See how perfect we are together. Touch and know all of my flaws as I will know yours. Tell me what you see and feel. I want to know how your eyes see me. Ask me what you want about how I see you and I promise I will speak only the truth."

"Erik, when I look at you I see only…Erik. I do not see a monster, phantom or ghost. You are only a man with flaws just as any other man might have. I see beauty," she says then quickly adds lest I feel unmanly, "Not that you are feminine in any way. Men can have beauty the same as a woman. Your music is beauty in the purest form. Your voice…."

Letting her mire herself down with seeking to find the many ways I am beautiful without any feminine connotations amuses me but I take pity on her rambling to bring us back to the present. As a last bid in this game of revelation I ask Isabella to find one thing about her that is even slightly pleasing in her eyes,

Giving careful consideration to my request at last she tentatively offers, "My…my hair. It has a healthy sheen and falls into natural waves when allowed free of pins and combs. "

"Ah, yes, your lovely hair. I suppose it has not escaped your notice how often I bury my face in those soft fragrant strands." To prove my point I bring a fistful to my face. It is like a black cloud without the promised storm to come. Heaven is in those silky tresses.

"More Isabella, tell me more."

Biting her lip nervously she visually inspects her reflection. "My eyes are not unattractive," she states more as a question than a fact. I must make her believe in her worth.

"Every time I look into your eyes I feel as if I am drowning in blue pools. I find comfort in the calming cool depths. I love how that cool calmness changes to heated molten fire when we make love. Just before I bring you to fulfillment they catch fire giving off heat that in turn fuels my own passion. You burn for me just as I am certain I burn for you."

"Oh, my. Well in that case I suppose my lips are passable. I am not an expert on such matters but you do seem to enjoy exploring the inner depths of my mouth," she concludes blushing furiously. At least my efforts were not so untutored as to go unnoticed or heaven forbid, prove my incompetence as a lover.

This small victory gives me hope that Isabella is inclined to believe in me and in herself. Pushing her too hard might drive her back in her shell or in her case beneath a voluminous veil. Some day soon I hope to have her proudly walking among her peers with head held high.

Having held my own needs in check so all my attention would be on Isabella comes to an end when Isabella turns to me with a need that will not be denied. In truth I am not of a mind to resist. Eagerly we stumble our way to my bed. My home resounds with the unfamiliar sound of laughter followed my cries of ecstasy.

Plans are temporarily pushed aside for the moment. Later holding Isabella in a lover's embrace as she sleeps I begin to form a new idea how to get my love to see what I see when looking at her. Contacting Madame Giry is not something I thought ever to do again but to make my plan work I will need all the help I can find. Old grudges and hurts must be given their proper due then put firmly behind all concerned.

If that cannot be done then there is always notes and my deadly Punjab.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Anpther unedited chapter. Let me know if there are any glaring mistakes. **

**Chapter Eleven**

**Tricks of the Mind**

**Isabella's POV**

My life is changing so fast. Faster than I am prepared for. Erik is like a whirlwind scooping me up into the madness within the center of the storm. It is an unsettling feeling while also giving me different ways to look at life and myself. Through Erik's eyes I see not a person completely repulsive but someone with flaws of unnatural creation. If only I could find the courage to continue the process of self-discovery Erik started.

Panic, of such a force it nearly cripples me, comes every time I try to look too closely at my reflection in the mirror. I felt foolish to have caused such a scene the last time he and I were together. What he must think of me. I gave him no time to comfort me or question what brought on my attack of unmanageable nerves. Now he must believe I am some insane woman who screams uncontrollably after looking in the mirror.

Try as I might I cannot recall just what triggered such a reaction in me. All I know is one second Erik held me in his arms as we gazed at our combined reflection. Some flash, perhaps the light from a candle, I think might be what began the incident. Something about that flash of light frightened me so terribly I felt in immediate danger. For that brief moment I did not feel like me at all, at least not the grown woman I know I am. In that instant I felt like a small child, one suffering from something about to happen. Whatever the outcome from that time no memory of it remains with me now. The flash or recollection left as quickly as it began. The dread however does leave me even when I sleep. Nightmares I cannot recall upon waking plague me as soon as slumber overtakes me. Sleep is something I now try to avoid.

I feel terrible for the way I am treating Erik. He has done nothing yet he bears the brunt of my disquiet. Avoiding returning to the opera house is not a permanent solution especially now with Felix revealing to me his new association with a certain ghost. Meg also knows Erik is occupying the fifth cellar once more. Meg's promise of silence I can count on without worry but Felix is another matter. His change into this better person is too recent to be reliable.

At the moment I am too occupied with my own life disruptions to try to unravel the mystery of how Felix came to be involved with Erik. Meg I can understand being aware of Erik as her mother has been asked back to oversee the dance corp. For some reason I feel Erik is responsible for Madame Giry's return. Something Christine said leads me to believe this. If my mind was not such a jumble of worry about what is real and what is imagined I could pay better attention to what is going on around me.

Fear that something terrible is about to happen weighs me down like an iron cloak. I yearn to have Erik beside me yet stay steadfast in my decision not to see him until I can regain some sort of control over my emotional state. My breakdown in front of Erik I know caused him as much pain as it did me. He suffered as if we are one. That is what love does; it connects two people in such a way emotions are shared whether they be good or bad.

Ignoring Erik's beseeching letters for my return to the opera house break my heart. I am aware of the blow I deliver every time I do not reply. He must feel I am rejecting him. I do not reject him, it is the opening door to some terrible childhood experience that I reject.

Coward that I am I am unable to face him again. To do so, will bring back that all consuming inner sense of impending doom. The reality of my appearance is less stressing than trying to crack through the black wall into my past. What could be so awful that would wall in a child of only three? That is the only image my mind held onto after my breakdown. Clearly I see myself but it is a different image than I know to be the truth.

The image my mind clings to is a perfectly normal child. I am looking upward with an expression I can only describe as adoring. Someone is holding my hand. My head aches from trying to bring definition to that blurred figure beside me.

Questions have begun to form as to whether at one time I looked normal. If so what happened to change things? Is what happened the reason paralyzing fear overtakes me every time I come close to breaking through the wall inside my mind.

The only males in my memory are my father, Felix and Raoul as a young man. The last time I saw him he was perhaps twelve. Even his father is some vague figure to me. The man had little use for a child not of his direct line and a female at that. Given all these clues I am certain the person holding my hand is my father. That image brings a warmth while the image of the person standing off in the shadows is evil personified in my nightmares.

Tonight pacing around my room gives me no solace. Only Erik holding me will give me a sense of peace. I feel safe with him. I have a feeling Erik could slay any dragon or remove any threat to those he cares about. For all his own mother treated him shabbily, he does have a chivalrous nature where women and children are concerned. I wonder if it is Madame's influence or maybe a combination of Madame Giry and Christine's dependence on him.

Everyone knows of Antoinette's dealings with the Phantom. What they do not know is how much she depended on him. Through him her life was made better as well as that of her two daughters. Christine wanted for nothing. The Giry women received their own rewards from the man from the shadows.

Erik can be generous to a fault given the opportunity. He strives to be a good and honorable man. Circumstances have not always been on his side. In the future it will be my goal in life to see only good things come his way. To that end I must fix whatever is wrong with me. How can I, in good conscience, saddle Erik with a woman of an unstable mind?

All this deep soul searching tires me. The constant pacing may be a contributing factor as well. My bed beckons me while also representing a place of torture, not of the body but of the mind.

As I removing my robe it feels as if someone watches my every move. Only one person brings on this phenomenon. Of course it is impossible for him to be here in my home. Erik does not leave the opera house for any reason as far as I know. No one has reported seeing a cloaked figure drifting in and out of shadows in the streets or alleyways. A shiver runs down my spine as I imagine what would happen to any unlucky soul running into Erik in his past life.

Turning out the last lamp I crawl into bed. Wriggling around trying to find a comfortable spot ties my sheets and blankets into knots. I would throw the whole mess in the floor if I would not get chilled as the fire dies down. Feet sticking out and shoulders only half covered I sigh in disgust as I toss the mangled mess onto the floor.

Only seconds later I regret my hasty decision as gooseflesh pops out on my arms and legs. Burrowing deeper into the mattress does little to warm my chilling flesh. What I would not give if Erik truly were here now. In his arms, pulled tightly against him our combined body heat would warm us both. For all those accounts of his cold touch I have to say Erik feels wondrously warm to me.

That feeling of being watched comes again. There is no sound to give a clue of another person in the room. It is only this feeling, as if my body knows Erik's so well I am attuned to him.

"Well are you going to stand there all night like a bird of prey or come to bed like a civilized man?" My question is posed hoping I am not speaking to only empty air. I am almost positive it is Erik but I could be projecting what I want and not what actually is.

"A man does not presume. I was waiting for an invitation," comes from a voice beside my bed. The dark need contained in those words gives me a pleasant shiver of anticipation.

The words are still lingering in the air when I feel strong arms encircle my waist to pull me against his long frame. A man cannot hide his want of a woman this I have learned. In turn I leave no doubt how much I want Erik. For the next hour or so only our sighs and moans make any sound around us.

Later we try to outdo each other apologizing. "Erik I am so sorry for being silly," I say while kissing his face as added proof of my sincerity.

At the same time Erik says, "I am sorry my love for trying to force something on you that you are not ready to see." His hands and mouth are not idle either. Our days of separation have made us eager to make up for lost time.

Our laughter mingles in one of the most pleasant sounds I have ever heard. Erik's joy resonates from deep in his chest adding a husky quality to the sound. His laughter sounds as rusty as mine. Neither of us have had a life that had moments of pure joy displayed in the way humans do, laughter.

Contented sleep is close at hand when I hear a whisper at my ear, "Isabella, I want us to give a party, a private party. Our guests shall be only those who we feel comfortable around."

Looking over my shoulder at him in shock I say, "Erik, I am only aware of two people you feel you can occupy the same room with without pulling out your Punjab. As for me, you are the only person I am able to be myself around. Everyone else…let me just say in my experience everyone else is even more unsettled than I when in my company."

"I have grown. You have given me an insight into the inner man I am. That man longs for acceptance. He wants to be a part of life not hidden away from it. I want us to live a life together that is open. No more hiding for either of us," he says with a hint of warning what he is asking of me.

The part where we live together sounds wonderful. It is the part about hiding no longer that frightens me. Knowing how hard it is for Erik to let anyone see him without a mask he must desire this new life so very much. He would not ask me to do anything he did not think in my best interest. The problem is can I find enough courage to give him what his heart desires? Love is a powerful emotion. I do hope mine is strong enough to see me through the uncertain future.

"Erik for you I will do as you ask. Just give me time to buck up my courage. Please do not hold it against me or think I love you any the less if I am not able to comply with all you ask of me," pitiful broken sounds are what come out when I hoped to sound more sure of the outcome. I should have known that in giving myself that way out I still had doubts about being able to do what Erik most assuredly will do. There was a sound of resolution in his voice.

Once Erik has the bit between his teeth nothing can stop him. He is a power to be reckoned with. I admire his determination while at the same time wish he would just this once let the issue drop. All he is doing is for my benefit; I know this but still feel disinclined to seek resolution to the mystery from my past if my nightmares are indeed manifested by some occurrence from some time in the past.

Before dawn Erik takes his leave. His reluctance is balm to my flagging confidence. To give him his due I must give proper praise for his bravery. Should someone have seen him no doubt Erik would have spent the night being pursued rather than comfortably ensconced in my bed. He must care greatly for me to risk life and limb just to spend a few hours with me. How can I not love such a wonderful man? Some day I must remember to thank Christine for not having the courage to face her fears so that Erik remained free until such time as we could meet properly.

Wasting no time Erik set about making things happen. For someone sequestered as he says he is, Erik knows a lot of people, people loyal to him. Much to my surprise Madame Giry immediately offered to lend a hand with arranging the dinner party as well as helping make up a guest list. I think Erik stood behind her the whole time the list was being created.

Meg and Christine also agreed to give aid wherever they could help. Raoul understandably elected to stay in the background. His only contribution will be to arrive with his wife on his arm.

How my life has changed since Erik plotted to bring us together in such an unorthodox manner. He claims it is I who brought changes in his life. We must agree to disagree or better still conclude we are both a blessing to those we care about.

For the first time in my life I am looking forward to sitting down at a table and eating a meal without worry I might shame myself because of the manner I eat and drink. The one concession I willingly made to Erik is that I will wear a veil that only covers me to beneath my eyes. He is wearing a domino that at some point will be removed. I drew the line at the removal of his wig. The look of relief on his face told me all I need to know. Entering the world where everyone is normal takes small steps. Together we will take this first step with the help of friends. Friends, did either Erik or I think we had one friend let alone enough to fill a dining table?


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Oh my dear heavens. This is the chapter that just did not want to come as I planned. Something much more weepy eyed played in my head. I cried just thinking of it. When I sat down to write those words would not commit themselves to paper/computer page. **

**This is an extremely long chapter. Try as I might it would not let me shorten it. Maybe I should have put some of it in the last chapter as it was so short but what is done is done. I'll see what reviews say. **

**Hope it does not disappoint or drag on like a long winded speaker. **

**Chapter Twelve**

**Unmasked**

**Erik's POV**

Nervously I pace about pulling at my cravat, checking to make sure no stray pieces of thread hand from the seams of my suit and check my watch every minute or so counting down the minutes until I will go meet Madame Giry in an office Isabella made open for our face to face meeting in over a year.

Despite being a mature man I feel like a small boy going before the headmaster. I suppose I always felt inadequate under Madame's critical eye. Not once in all our association did I let her see my insecurity. One harsh word from her and I would have cowered just as I did beneath Javart's evil gaze. Hers I know would only be to put me in my place but that old gypsy hated everything about me except the money that jingled in his purse.

It has been years since I thought of those days of my childhood spent underneath the opera house. Antoinette, ah Antoinette of days gone by, my Nettie as I called her then. Was there ever a day when I did not commit some crime that required a sound tongue lashing? As I recall those days now I can see most of my bad behavior was committed to gain attention from my savior, Nettie.

As we grew into young adults the natural order of things began to separate us. I hated every young man calling for her. Several found some nasty concoctions added to food that made them ill. I did not even try to deny my culpability, in fact I wore it like a badge of honor. Soon after entering into the role of a young man my rebellious nature reared its ugly head. I do regret not trying harder to understand why my dear companion needed more than just me. At the time I believed she was all I would ever need. Time proved me wrong as well as suffering the pangs of living. Nothing teaches a lesson than life itself.

There is no life without suffering, no redemption without regret. I have suffered and live now trying to atone for those things I regret. The pain I must cause Isabella will forever be one of my deepest regrets. If I could find another way to reveal what is necessary for her to move on then I would not risk losing her affection as I must. It is even a possibility I may damage her in a way that she cannot come away from unscathed.

"Erik! Where are you? For heavens sakes your note nearly shaved ten years off my life," an all too familiar voice echoed around my grotto. My heart beat with welcome. Stinging in my eyes warned me of tears to come. I will not meet her with weak tears rolling down my face. My appearance will be manly and commanding.

Stopping in surprise to see me suddenly in front of her for a moment she is speechless. We use these silent moments to search out things about each other that are the same and those things that are different.

"Damn you Erik, you never were one to do things by half. It isgo grand or do not go at all," her gruff admonishment does not fool me for I see her wiping the trickle of tears off her face.

"Madame I warn you to curb your acid tongue and change your tone. Have you forgotten who you are speaking to?" All bluster and blunder with no threat at all if one knows me very well and Madame knows me better than I know myself.

"None of that now. I have not risked life and limb to listen to you puff about like those windbags above."

Two strides and I am standing over her giving my best Phantom "I'll choke the life out of you with my Punjab" look. Placing hands on hips she glares right back. With a jubilant whoop I pick her up and twirl her around. Nothing like this would be possible before Isabella.

Laughing with pure joy she says, "Erik put me down this instant. There is much to discuss. Your note mentioned something about a party and little else. I swear if this is some insane attempt to regain Christine's regard I will use your own Punjab to string you up."

For a few seconds more we attempt to see inside the other's mind without revealing what is inside our own. After such an uncharacteristic greeting how does one go on? My built in wall of protection is shoring up despite me efforts to give Madame the benefit of a doubt. My enthusiasm for her coming is quickly waning as my mind recalls how she betrayed me to one my most hated enemies.

Sensing my retreat Madame says, "Erik, I…I thought you had forgiven me, now you look as if you detest me. Please let us not be on unfriendly footing, especially after such a congenial greeting."

Keeping all emotion from my face I let her worry about my changed mood a while longer. I don't want to alienate her again, I need her assistance.

"Would you care for some tea Madame?" my cool tone reflects just the right amount of disinterest as to whether she agrees or not while mentally crossing my fingers for luck I can win her allegiance once again, After all, this time no one will die.

It is hard not to fidget under her steady gaze. I feel she is trying to reconcile me offering her something as civilized as tea. It sits oddly with me too but I would rather eat glass than admit it.

It is hard to perform the simple task under her watchful eye. Proudly I sit across from her awaiting her to pour as is proper. She is a guest in my home but also a woman. Her age and status dictate she take on the role of hostess in this ritual of taking tea.

Here I am sitting at the table with a normal person doing something others take for granted. Soon we are both relaxed enough to enjoy exchanging stories of how the last year had gone. On my part most of it came from my imagination. I did not want to tell her how I wept and sob for the first six months then spent a couple months in apathy before at last digging myself out of the pit of self destruction.

Whether or not she believes my bending of actual facts I do not care. What is important to me is Isabella and freeing her from the chains that bind her, the same sort of chains that bound me until I met her. She freed me, so now I will do the same for her.

In order to win over Madame I must be as honest as I can without revealing just how close Isabella and I are. I do want anyone thinking Isabella is any less pure now than she was before we met. To me she will always remain that innocent beautiful young woman.

"Erik this woman, this Isabella you speak of, I have met her a couple of times during meetings concerning opera house business. Naturally I have heard the speculative gossip. You know how gossip is among the younger ones. If I believed half what they said even I would hesitate being in the same room with Isabella," she says unconcernedly while my face I feel certain turns purple with my rage. How dare those giggling gaggle of empty headed girls cast aspersions on my beloved.

A hand gently patting my shoulder brings my escalating ire back down to somewhere near normal, normal for me at least. Breathing heavily I sit gazing off behind Madame's shoulder to give me time to let calm rule over my instinctive response to someone speaking about the woman I love in such a way as to make it appear others ridiculed her behind her back. That may be the case but to have it spoken aloud will not be tolerated in my presence. It is touch and go as to whether I will hunt them down doling out an appropriate punishment.

"Erik, I know that look. It is the same look you had when…when you found out Christine chose Raoul to love. Please, if you love this woman, Isabella, do not do anything to jeopardize your happiness with her," Madame reasons with me in the hope of stopping me from doing anything that cannot be undone.

"Very well, for Isabella's sake I will not seek retribution. She does not hold a grudge against those who delight in spreading lies about her. In my days as the Phantom I took my revenge on those who spoke of me in ways that were demeaning. You must admit I did not commit any unjust actions to those silly little prima donnas in waiting," I reply feeling lighter in spirits as I recall how I made those girls scream in delightful fear of the man in the shadows. If I recall correctly Meg was the most persistent of them all. Her eagle eyes spotted me before anyone else when I allowed them to see me. Now I believe it was a delightful game between the two of us.

"Now that we have that out of the way tell me how I may be of assistance. I warn you now I will not deliver one single note," finality is there in her voice.

It hurt me to tell Madame about Isabella's imperfections. The pain grew as I had to reveal all Isabella's secrets, even those she did not know were locked inside her mind. Madame could not hold the tears back as the gruesome tale unfolded. The abuse rivaled that which Javart dealt out to the poor dirty boy wearing a sack to cover his shame. The shame of it is the person responsible for this tragedy died a relatively painless death. If I had control of such matters the woman would still be burning on a stake in a public square.

At what point Madame became Antoinette I cannot remember. I am sure she must have given me permission to do so. I would not presume to take such a liberty of this woman. Despite everything I hold her in the highest regard. Without her intervention I would likely be dried bones scattered in some ditch along whatever route I could not survive another beating. In my heart I know my death was only weeks away at the rate my punishment escalated with each night the gawkers outside my cage did not toss coins to my master. Just thinking of those days brings a shiver running down my spine.

Antoinette questioned some of my choices of who would be attending the dinner. Giving sane reasoning for each one she had to concede to my wishes. I find I am liking this new person I am becoming, the one who uses clear thinking to solve problems.

Invitations went out as is proper. It did not take long for replies to come pouring in. If they knew what the night would bring I daresay our table would be some ten or more people fewer.

With all the arrangements out of the way we now concentrate on the performance. Isabella is still jealous of Christine although she tries so hard to hide it from me. I let pass some of the petty comments she makes during the evening. Just as she makes them she counteracts them with some high praise for Christine's performance. If not for me being a bone of contention between them they would have been the best of friends. They still might be if all goes well later tonight.

Antoinette keeps a watchful eye on me as well as everyone else involved. Last Christmas is most assuredly on everyone's mind. That time period holds no fondness for me. Isabella did not ask but I confessed to my insanity. Lord save me, what I night that was. If a man can die from too much…pleasure then I would be residing in either heaven or hell. Isabella is of the opinion I will join her in heaven. Her stubborn nature just may earn me a place by her side. If a man's repayment for misdeeds are being paid I have it on the highest authority that I am on the road to redemption. Isabella consulted her priest then conveyed her findings to me. She has almost convinced me to join her in the family's personal box in the church. I dare not ask if we may refer to it as box five even if in my mind it is already labeled as such.

Christine's performance is more than even I thought it would be. If a person can reach angelic heights through there voice Christine is most assuredly a real angel. I am so proud of her. As I stand clapping with tears stinging my eyes my mind rushes through times in our association from the first night I heard her crying for her Angel of Music and her dead father all the way to my insanity trying to win her. I end this journey with a silent thank you to her and my blessing for a long and happy life with Raoul. I owe to her to tell her this in person. Some day, when Isabella and I are settled and she is feeling comfortable within her own skin, there will come a time for us all to make amends for the wrongs we have done to one another.

Naturally Isabella and I cannot leave the opera house together. I will be taking a carriage with my faithful helper driving. Antoinette and her party are being picked up by a carriage hired and paid for by me. It is the least I can do; let them arrive in style for this auspicious occasion.

Arriving two hours early that will give me time to place fresh memories of how we are together. What made me believe I could dress in the same room as m beloved and not want to throw her down on the bed must be the fact that I am new to intimacies. Isabella saved us getting caught by our guests in the throes of passion.

Precisely at the prearranged cocktail hour our guests begin to arrive. The two men managing the new L'Opéra Populaire arrive first. Monsieur Thomas Boyer and Monsieur Frederic Houseman have little time to hide the shock on their faces when the butler opens the door and Isabella and I are standing at the base of the grand staircase presenting a united front.

Courtesy demands they show no outward sign of their repugnance for me. Grinding my teeth I must admit some of that same emotion is likely being shared with the unsuspecting Isabella. Let them have their private belief that we are fooled by their sycophant display of faked approval to see us together.

They may gloat now behind the polite mask they show the world but by the night's end there will be no smiles or fake glances of sympathy when in reality they have only their own interests on their minds. Yes, tonight will end the hold they have on Isabella and all will know of their treachery.

Christine and Raoul arrive releasing me from my obligation of pretending I do not want to wrap my hands around the necks and choke the life out of them, the two managers, not Christine and Raoul, although...

Several more patrons of the opera house arrive. The lot of them should be sent to hell on a fast train. Ruining their reputations while relieving them of their stolen fortunes will be punishment enough since I promised Antoinette no blood would be spilled tonight. Tomorrow, now that is another story.

The last guest to arrive is my solicitor. Finding someone I felt confident to place my trust as well as my finances took me several long grueling months. He has proven himself to be honest and discreet. His purpose tonight is to obtain the right signatures on the right papers so Isabella will regain that which had been taken from her long before she cared about such things.

A nod from Henri Robard is the signal I needed to quiet the voices in my mind urging me to just end the life of all who hurt and betrayed Isabella. If this is to be our last night I do not wish for her last memory of me to be that of blood dripping from my hands or the bloated look of death upon the faces of those I would kill seeking revenge. I shall have my revenge in another more lasting fashion. One sure to cut them deeper than any blade I might use.

Felix I shall let Meg deal with in her own way. From observing her over the last few weeks I am impressed with how well she acquaints herself. When did she change from a giggly young ballerina to a responsible young woman? Antoinette should be proud of both her girls. Christine still retains some of her childish beliefs but marriage with all its responsibilities will guide her into womanhood when she is ready.

Pre-dinner drinks along with polite conversation are enough to relax Isabella so that carrying on a conversation is not so stressful. When her laughter fills the room everyone looks in her direction, some with shock and others with pleased expressions on their faces. Those showing shock are the same heartless bastards who committed such egregious crimes against an innocent child.

Feeling Isabella's discomfort to have all eyes on her at once, I prepare to make some comment, when Antoinette comes to the rescue with a proposal of a toast to Christine and me as well. Lifting my glass I nod gratefully toward my cohort. She knows how I expect this evening to end.

Isabella's butler comes in to announce that dinner is ready to be served. This is the beginning of my plan to free Isabella. I did manage to speak to her in-between our moments of distraction while preparing for the evening. As I seat Isabella I squeeze her shoulder encouragingly. For a brief moment she brings her lips to the back of my hand. That is her way of passing some courage to me. It is agreed we will both shed part of our masking devices. Being a sensitive person Isabella would not let me volunteer to remove more than my mask. Some of my dignity shall remain intact.

Without ceremony I carefully remove my mask while at the same time Isabella begins to strip away her arm length gloves. At another time I shall request she do that when we are alone. Next she lifts back the veil halfway up so the bottom portion of her face is bared.

How smug those imbeciles looked until it is revealed that Isabella is not as horrific as they were lead to believe. I imagine some of them already know the truth behind her pain. Felix for certain knows and the managers as well. I do not know how much the others in the conspiracy know about what crime that devil woman perpetrated against Isabella. I pray she is strong enough to survive knowing what happened to her father, the man she loved so much and protected her as best he could after the passing of his wife. Even the strongest minded man will fall for the serpent disguised as a beautiful woman.

Dinner is an arduous hour long procession of food I could not get past my lips. Blessedly Isabella is eating as if she did so in front of others all the time. Other than a few long measured glances no one gave any indication tonight was any different from any other night. It is hard to miss the marks on her arms and on the side of her face when seated close to her. I am used to them so they are nearly invisible to me. Love blurs imperfection in those who win that most powerful emotion.

Finally the hour of revelations is at hand. I, who do not count God among my intimate acquaintances, now pray fervently for his guidance and grace in what I am about to do.

"If everyone will please gather in the parlor we will enter into the next part of our evening. I have composed a story, one not written with music in mind but one with a tale sure to hold your interest from beginning to end."

If not for my promise and Isabella's adverse reaction I would end this farce with a few well placed blades, quick, with an assured ending, without fuss or muss. Alas this must be done in a civilized manner. How they all deal with the ending is on their hands not mine. Henri is here to guide them to make the proper decisions.

After dinner drinks are being passed round so slowly a beetle could outrun them. Perhaps it is my anxiety making movement seem in slow motion. I personally close the door to the parlor just barely missing hitting the backside of the last servant out the door. Turning around I survey each guest one by one. Raoul, Christine, Antoinette and Meg are here only as window dressing so the guilty had no suspicions they were about to be annihilated as my beloved Isabella has been for over her lifetime, only in her case the punishment is not just.

"I do hope everyone is comfortable. I have some entertainment for the remainder of the evening. It is a tale worthy of telling and will pull at the heart of the innocent while striking unease in the guilty. It is not set to music or song. Think of it as more of a story of truth revealed after being hidden behind lies and deception. Think of me as the purveyor of truth if you will," I say with a straight face. Raoul's near choking is rewarded with a glare from me and a poke in the ribs from Christine.

"Let us travel back in time, a time when there was a happy family, mother, father and perfect little angelic daughter. The young couple were deeply in love. Their daughter was the only other person they let into their world with any regularity," I pause to let our guests create a picture in their minds.

"Now into this perfect insular family the woman allows another woman into the circle. For the sake of getting a clear picture let us call the mother Claire. The father shall be Edward the daughter we shall name Isabella," I come to stand behind Isabella as I declare the names of our three main characters.

"Erik, I….I do not think I want you to tell this story. Please let us have something else. Please, I…" she ends with a rise of fear.

"It is alright Isabella. I promise, nothing will harm you, nothing will happen that you are not strong enough to bear," I lean down to place a kiss on the top of her head.

"To add reality to the story of course I shall use names of those within this room." Several of our guests clear their throats and move about in their seats. The managers rise as if to leave but I stare them down with cold promise of nasty things being done should they step out of the safety of this room.

"Now, to continue. Isabella, remember what we spoke of earlier tonight? Are you ready now to reveal all, just as I have?" I sense the shaking of her head even if I cannot see it. She will need my strength to help her with this next step.

Slowly she raises her hands to grasp the edges of the veil. With reluctance in every movement gradually the remainder of her face comes into view. Gasps echo from all around us. I only feel and see Isabella.

I will not let her lower her head in shame. There is nothing about her that should bring shame to her. Yes, there are imperfections, some more ghastly than others but most are faded as if time began to erase a mistake made by fate.

"Erik, what have you done! Where is Isabella? If you have harmed her…" Christine's outburst is silenced by Antoinette's interjection, "Christine, be quiet. I swear this is Isabella and Erik has done nothing wrong."

Still standing by Isabella I continue, "Now to continue our tale. The family let a cousin, we shall call her Caroline. This woman had a son named for his grandfather, Felix. This woman Caroline befriended the sweet Claire easily winning her trust. This viper should not have been let within a hundred miles of anyone unacquainted with the evilness in the world and those willing to commit evil acts,' I end this part of the story preparing myself for the next part that will test us all.

"This woman, Caroline, began to feel jealous of her cousin's perfect life. A handsome husband, a perfect little daughter and a wife granted everything she could wish. Her own husband committed the cardinal sin of dying leaving her with a son to raise with very little capital to do it properly," Isabella whimpered leaving me choice but to stop so I might lend her the fortitude to carry on. We spoke earlier of removing all clothing that covered flesh we hated others to see. This was to free us is what I told her and I meant it. I just did not include this second part in our agreement. This part must be done in this manner so Isabella faces the early trauma in her life.

Bracing myself I continue on, "Caroline went so far as to try to seduce the husband of her cousin with no success. If not for the fact the couple were kindhearted they would have tossed both mother and son out in the street. If they had seen into the future it is what likely would have happened, far better for the innocent if they had."

By now I feel my anger rising and must calm it to say with an even tone, "One day Caroline invited Claire out for a ride in the meadow. Despite the servants warning of an impending storm they went out. Caroline pleaded that it might be her last ride in the country should she not find a suitable situation for her and Felix."

"Hours passed with no one seeing or hearing anything from either woman. The storm raged. Lightening split the sky, rain poured down as if heaven dumped buckets upon the earth."

"Claire's husband returned home at nightfall to a house in an uproar. Caroline had returned but the mistress still remained unaccounted for. They story they were told is Claire's horse spooked knocking her off. She fell into the streambed usually dry but now swollen and swift with a current strong enough to carry off a grown horse let alone a small woman."

"The search went on for two days with her body being recovered downstream beaten beyond recognition by the rocks. Stories circulating around the neighboring homes chilled even the hardest of hearts. Tobias, a day laborer disappeared the same night Claire met her death. Servants talk and most of the time there is a bit of truth in it."

"Speculation went round as to whether the young mistress received the killing blow before or after she fell from the horse. Since Tobias conveniently booked passage on the first ship out of France he could not collaborate or deny Caroline's recounting of events. Questions arose as to how a man poor as a church mouse one day could rise to the level of a man with enough in his pocket to pay for an expensive ticket. It does make one wonder does it not?"

Isabella is shaking so badly I do think she would fall from her chair without my hands holding her down. I will not let this sway me from my set task. In the end we will be the better for the truth seeing the light of day and Isabella coming to grips with the reality of her deformation just as I am facing mine. I will not live the rest of my live wearing a hot cumbersome mask. Why should either Isabella or I feel it necessary to cover what God has given to us? Isabella's not by birth but by the plotting of an evil jealous woman," I must pause to regain my emotional control lest blood be spilled.

"As time passed with no answers the man let grief over his loss blind him to the child still needing his guidance and care. He let the viperous woman convince him life would be better for the child to have a loving mother even if only a stepmother. She put her own son up as an offering to the man. What man does not hope to have a son carry on his name? Little by little the woman took control of everything in the man's life except his daughter. His enduring love would not let him hand over complete control of his child. Since the bulk of the estate would fall into the daughter's hands upon reaching a proper age or marrying, this left Caroline with one choice. The man must die and if the daughter died as well so much the better," I speak with as much control as I can manage. Isabella now is visibly shaking. I can see the concern on the faces of those who care about my love and fear of discovery on the faces of those culpable in the conspiracy.

"Shortly after the marriage the father started to regain his senses. Discrepancies about how his first wife died came to light as did financial maneuvering by his second wife slowly reveal just what sort of woman he let near his precious daughter. Edward confronted his treacherous wife with the facts he learned once his mind cleared. She denied all but facts are facts. Threats of imprisonment or life living as a pauper drove Caroline to one despicable final act. A lantern close at hand served as an adequate weapon. Thrown toward the unsuspecting Edward it hit him most likely dead center. The resulting flames spread rapidly," Isabella is sobbing by this point nearly crushing my resolve.

"Into this inferno comes the child. Seeing her father alight with flames her small perfect hands beat at the flames in useless pats. Flesh burns but nothing, not even the pain will drive Isabella away from the father she loves so much especially after such a short time after losing her mother. Imagine her pitiful cries begging for help and her terror when none is forthcoming." I must pause as Isabella's weeping is more than I can bear as is her pleading for me to stop.

"Erik, please stop. I do not like this story. It…hurts to hear it. It burns as if I have caught fire myself. I can feel my skin melting as more flames lick at me from all around. Where is she? Why does she not help me? Oh, it hurts so badly. Please make it stop burning me,' Isabella begs in a child's voice, the voice of the child she had been the night her father died and she gained more scars than any child should bear, both inside and out.

"Papa, papa please, wake up. We must get out of here. The fire, it is all around us. I canot pat all the flames out. Do not die Papa. I will be alone if you die. Make the hurt stop Papa. Make it go away," the child she had been calls out her pain and fear but her father is long past the point of hearing so it is left to us, those who care for her now to hear of her pain and give what comfort we can.

"Remember the heat Isabella, remember the lick of flames against your skin, feel it but know it is just a memory, a horrific recollection of a time long past. It cannot hurt you anymore. You are safe among people who love you. I love you," I beseech her to cling to our love like a lifeline.

Abruptly Isabella stands knocking over her chair. She begins to tear at her clothing as she cries out, "Papa I hurt. It hurts."

Frantically she continues to rip at her clothing revealing milky white skin flawless in some places while in others twisted flesh mars her perfection. It still breaks my heart to know how perfect God intended for her to be and how marred her flesh is now. To me there is still beauty among her imperfections but then I see her through the eyes of a lover. If the others say or do one thing to make Isabella think of herself in any other way than being an attractive woman I will make them unable to speak ever again.

Wrapping my arms around Isabella I rock her as if she were still that child feeling the pain from the flames searing her flesh. I cannot remove the image of her father dying in such a horrible way or completely remove all her own terror but I can and will lend my strength to her as she needs it. I will surround her with my love and acceptance.

Unexpectedly I feel other arms encircling us. Raising my head I see the top of Antoinette's head along with Meg and Christine's. As one they lift their faces up toward me. Their faces are wet with tears. Antoinette motions for me to leave Isabella in the capable hands of the women so I am free to deal with the rest of my story.

With deliberate steps I come to stand in front of the managers and the other vultures feeding on Isabella's fortune. Tonight the travesty will end. The curtain on this play is almost ready to fall.

"Now gentlemen as we all know all the best stories have more than one villain. This tale is riddled with those of evil intent ready to take from someone unable to guard against such an onslaught. The child, Isabella feel into the hands of her evil stepmother. Along with the woman came the son. Now as we all know children are not born wicked, wickedness is something they learn at the hands of those supposedly taking care of them," I look directly at Felix to let him know that I do not still hold him to blame for all of Isabella's self-hatred.

"**The night of the fire the boy courageously tried to put out the fire with his own hands. Marks from the fire are still evident on the palms of his hands today. Felix quickly put his hands behind his back. I will not hurt him but I am happy to let him feel guilt for his part in Isabella's distress. That night he showed bravery beyond his thirteen years. Caroline I am certain poisoned the boys mind toward his new stepsister. **

**Afterward Caroline told her own accounting of her husband's death. Who was there to dispute her word? Those in a position to question whether or not the father left a will instructing how his holdings were to be disbursed. Fortunately the estate and an inheritance from Edward's parents left a fortune to any future grandchild they might have. It was put in an irrevocable trust until the proper time to inherit.**

**Caroline naturally took this as an affront to her integrity. Her hatred grew to such a degree the poison in her mind filtered over into her son. Bit by bit Isabella's world changed from one of joy to one of unbelievable horror. Everything from her former life was taken from her. New staff came to replace the old. **

**Over time Caroline instilled in Isabella's mind that the world saw only hideous twisted flesh when looking at her. The boy learned his poor behavior from the mother. Caroline bought his complicity through bribery. Bribery also served to keep the eyes, ears and mouths of certain patrons and the managers closed to what Caroline did with her husband's few remaining assets. Heirlooms meant for the child were sold off to pay for the flamboyant lifestyle Caroline craved. **

**Money that should have gone to care for the child and the home she would inherit went to the accounts of managers willing to cook the books along with a few weak natured patrons. Back alley deals were made for services with less than reputable companies. Triple charges for goods and services depleted an account that should have been healthy for many years to come. **

**I do blame this part of the story on a certain Phantom. For years it had been his duty to watch over the whole of the opera house. Due to personal tragedy he let his eyes be turned away from his responsibilities. **

**Imagine how this man felt once he learned of the liberties taken in his absence. His heart belonged to this angel, this woman beaten down to think she is not fit to be seen. This man knows horror personally and could see none in the woman holding his heart and soul in the palm of her hand. Her pain became his pain. **

**Try as he might there seemed to be nothing to be done. Then one night while investigating some papers left out on a desk some very interesting details came to his attention. Now he knew what had to be done. **

**Tobias had to be found. Servants dismissed after the tragedy were found and questioned. Certain court officials gladly told what they knew. The Phantom's persuasive powers happily returned so no one need be given any nasty accidents to win their cooperation. In all honesty I must confess the threat was there even if the intent was not. Love won them their chance to live. **

**I am sure tonight everyone wishes to do the right thing. My solicitor, Monsieur Henri Robard has papers prepared that only require a signature. It is with your health continuing past tonight that I suggest you sign then leave as quickly as you can. Who knows, the Phantom may well be watching us at this very moment. He unfortunately has less control than I do." **

"In case anyone is of a mind to disregard Erik's advice I will add my own recommendation. My influence reaches to the highest courts and I have enough funds in my accounts to hire anyone I need to carry out my wishes," Raoul stands up to face those gentlemen now wishing only to leave their seats and seek safety.

At another time I would set that young pup down for stealing my thunder but in this case I welcome any support I can get. At this point my gut is grinding as Isabella continues to cry. When she calls my name sounding desperate it is beyond what I can stand. Raoul nods toward the tight group of women. Pushing back his jacket I see a pistol in an shoulder harness. The pup may well be on his way to manhood after all. He had the good sense not to take chances with the woman he loves. I can forgive his distrust of me knowing Christine is his main concern.

Isabella nearly knocks me over as she launches toward me crying out my name as if I am her savior. Perhaps tonight I am. Whispering softly into her ear I gather up tattered clothing and all. Without another look toward anyone I leave the room heading straight for the stairs. I do not stop until I reach her room. Still holding her I settle us both on the bed. Cradling her against my chest I speak nonsense. It matters not what I say only the low melodic tone I speak to her.

Isabella turns to me grasping me tightly around the neck. It is hard to breath but if it gives her some peace in her troubled soul then if I must die then so be it. I will ignore the slimy ooze rolling down inside my collar. My shirt being used to wipe a dripping nose I will overlook it. With a deep inhalation and one last sniffle she speaks with muffled voice into my neck, "Erik, our guests. What must they think of me?"

"Our guests can go hang themselves for all I care. Those who matter think no less of you. I am sure between all of our close friends things will be taken care of," I kiss the top of her head and pull her in as close as possible.

As I feel her relax worry over how she will feel toward me once she is calm brings a knot to my stomach. What if…Oh God! I cannot live without her. Without her there is no life for me. I shall die.

"Isabella my love, do you remember? Are things clear to you now? Do you know how beautiful you really are? This," I trace my finger along the light scarring on her left cheek, "this my love is less than nothing. Only through the eyes of a tormented child does it look so horrific it cannot be borne by others. This scarring," here I trace down over the scarring along her arm, "why, it is hardly noticeable."

I ignore that selfish bastard inside my head telling me to lie to her. I will not now or ever lie to her. Years of suffering is more than someone as innocent as my Isabella should suffer. I will not be another of those claiming to care with only my own interests in mind.

"I…I remember Erik. It is hard to conceive such evil, such disregard for another's pain. How could she do it Erik? I was but a child and she would have let me die. I…I think if not for Felix coming into the room she would have. It…it is not all his fault the selfish ways he has lived by since boyhood. Caroline instilled in him a belief that life's luxuries were a God given right.

"Erik…do you…do you think my father suffered very much? It is all like so dream I am recalling upon waking. I…cannot remember him. My mother…I cannot bring to mind how she looked. As a young girl I stopped asking for pictures of my mother and father. To do so brought on a tirade of names and belittlement. I learned it was better to let the memories fade. I know you have told me and the others did not appear to be overly horrified when looking at me…is it true Erik? Do I not present such a terrible sight? For years I used to look in the mirror trying to see something human, something that did not belong in some sideshow. I could not see anything but this distorted face and body. Am I not so horrible then?" she concludes with a hopeful note.

I can see it will take more than one night of positive reaction from outsiders to begin to heal such deep wounds. My own experience gives me courage to push forward. I am not alone in this. There are others, friends, who will be all too happy to show Isabella her true worth just as she gave me the ability to see someone thought me worthy of love and trust.

All night I held her until sleep claimed her. In the days before Christmas there appeared this confident charming woman ready to laugh and speak out in the company of others. Christine is a particular favorite of Isabella's. I am not one to speak out of turn but even I can see the two women do look strikingly similar. Isabella would have been a world class beauty if not for those few flaws she wears like badges of pride these days.

I cried shamelessly the morning I awoke to my first Christmas shared with anyone. If truth be told it is the first one I have acknowledged in over a decade. We played Charades and Blind Man's Bluff. I have to say I cheated without impunity during both games. Raoul took exception but the women were won over by woeful looks of apology. I am learning the art of boyish charm, perhaps a couple decades late but it is still effective.

I plan to ask Isabella for her hand in marriage the night of New Year's Eve. I think it fitting to start a new year with a new life together. I shall have to work on Isabella obtaining some more colorful clothing. There are times she still only sees a hideous monster staring back at her. Years of being told such was the truth is bound to warp her perception of herself still. I can sympathize with her. I still she a hideous gargoyle at times. We will work on perfecting our images together.

I like that, together. Never again will I be just me. It will be Isabella and me until God willing we bring children into the world. Neither of us talk much about that subject. On my part it is the idea of passing on my deformity, on Isabella's part is fear how her children will react. There is plenty of time to convince her just how beautiful she is. That man inside my head telling me it is a mistake to let her know how beautiful she is lest she leaves me, I tell him to go to hell with the Phantom and the Opera Ghost. I am happy being Erik.

Christmas is indeed a time for miracles.


End file.
